Some Kind of Miracle
by shmexsay
Summary: Draco is determined to live the last nine months of his life with no regrets. But when a series of unfortunate events exposes his innermost ambitions to Harry Potter’s eyes, he might find that facing his imminent death is not so easy after all. HPDM
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"HARRY, WATCH OUT!"

Before Harry could register the warning, he was shoved, hard, to the ground. He landed gracelessly, grunting in pain as his shoulder slammed into the earth.

"Are you all right?" a frantic voice asked, before a pair of hands seized his arms and hauled him into a sitting position.

"I'm fine!" Harry choked out, reaching up and swiping at the mud on his glasses. He blinked, and through the pain clouding his vision, saw Ginny kneeling over him, her face pale and frightened. "What –?"

"Them," Ginny hissed, jerking her head at a swarm of black, hooded figures in the distance: Death Eaters. "Come on, let's move before they see us."

"I told you three to leave me alone," Harry said faintly as Ginny half dragged him behind the thick trunk of a nearby oak. "Don't tell me Ron and Hermione –"

"No, they agreed to stay with the rest of the Order." Ginny pushed Harry's robe aside to examine the shoulder he had landed on. "Sorry for pushing you away so roughly, but you're in plain view. You have to be more careful!"

Harry let out a cry of pain as Ginny pressed two fingers to his shoulder. "Get away from here!" he said, twisting away from her touch. "You can't be with me right now. The Order – they can't know – I need to find Voldemort –"

"I know, Harry, but I saw you escape headquarters last night, and I couldn't just let you leave. I told McGonagall, and she sent me off to find you soon after Lupin came back. It's a good thing I did, too! Did you even _see_ them there? You could've died if you caught their attention!"

"What are they doing here?"

"I don't know what they're doing, probably heading back to You-Know-Who, but… they're the ones who – they've got Dad and Mum…"

"What?" Panic flooded Harry's chest, making it hard to breathe. "Ginny, what are you – what do you mean they took your parents?"

"You left before we found out. They were with Lupin, trying to track down Bellatrix's lot, the ones that broke out of Azkaban… but they were surrounded, and –" Ginny's half-gasp, half-sob cut her words off, and she shut her eyes, as if remembering was painful. "Lupin made it back just a few hours after you disappeared, but they took Dad and Mum. We were expecting it; we knew they'd go for the pure-bloods who –"

"No," Harry said hollowly. He wanted to clamp his hands over his ears and tell Ginny to stop lying to him, because it wasn't right, it couldn't be true, she was just trying to trick him into going back to the Order. "That's not funny, Ginny."

Ginny's hands flew out to clutch the front of Harry's dirt-stained robes. "This isn't funny for me, either!" She released Harry, chest heaving, and pushed her hair back from her face. "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry. Harry, listen to me. You can't do anything stupid. I... I shouldn't have told you about Dad and Mum. Just forget about it."

Harry whipped around, saw the black mass of Death Eaters, and felt a wave of hatred so hot and ferocious that he nearly passed out from the sheer intensity of it. Those _monsters_ had Ginny's parents. He had to get them back. He couldn't sit there and hide behind a tree while the only family he'd ever known was taken away from him.

Mind surprisingly clear, he tore away from Ginny and scrambled to his feet. "I'm going after them."

Ginny grabbed his wrist, her eyes blazing. "You're behaving just like the Order said you would! _Think_, Harry. You-Know-Who is doing this to lure you out. Mum and Dad will be fine. They know what they're doing."

Harry tugged his wrist out of Ginny's grip. "Bellatrix is with them, right?"

Ginny's furious silence was the answer he'd been hoping for. Perfect. He'd have the opportunity to avenge Sirius's death as well.

Ginny hauled herself to her feet. Without hesitating, Harry took a step back, distancing himself from the only girl he'd ever loved, because he knew he had to. He had to scare her and make her understand that she couldn't be by his side until the war was over and he was able to protect her again.

And then Ginny's eyes hardened. Her lips curled back into something that was neither a smile nor a frown, but a sign of acceptance. "I'll never forgive you if you don't come out of this alive."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "I will," he said, but he didn't trust his own words, and it was clear that Ginny didn't either.

She clenched her fists, but lowered her head in resignation. "And… Harry, if you can, bring back my parents."

"I will," Harry said again, this time with far more assurance. He swallowed and stole another glance in the direction of the Death Eaters. They were moving off into the distance. "Shit. I – Ginny, I've got to go."

Without waiting for a reply, Harry shrugged on his Invisibility Cloak and tore off after the Death Eaters. _Hold on, Mr and Mrs Weasley,_ he begged silently, forgetting for the moment that he had set out to find the Horcruxes and destroy Voldemort. This – saving the lives of the ones he loved – was far more important. _Please… please, just one moment longer…_

It didn't take very long for Harry to catch up with the group. At first, he was confused by how quickly he'd sealed the distance between them; then, as he approached the Death Eaters, he realised that the reason for this was that they had stopped and arranged themselves into a semi-circle around two hunched figures.

_Please don't be dead,_ Harry thought hysterically as he edged closer to them. It was clear now that the white faces illuminated by the Death Eaters' wands belonged to Ginny's parents – and they were deathly still.

Revulsion and despair rose up in Harry's stomach, and he dropped to his hands and knees, fighting the urge to cry out. He had been too late. He hadn't been able to save them, just like he hadn't been able to save Cedric and Sirius and Dumbledore and –

"Now, who would like to finish them off?"

Bellatrix's chillingly familiar voice interrupted Harry's train of frenzied thoughts. Harry's eyes widened as her words sunk in. The Weasleys were still alive.

"Why not let Draco do it?" a rough voice snickered. "He was so eager to come along, and he deserves a reward for killing those Muggles back there."

"No," Bellatrix said sharply. "Our Lord has made it clear he doesn't want Draco's hands to be dirtied with traitorous blood yet."

Harry knelt, frozen to his spot. Draco? Draco _Malfoy_? He searched the hooded figures in the dim light, desperately trying to make out their faces in the fading light.

"You do it then, Bella!"

A round of murmurs chorused their agreement.

"You always said you looked forward to the day when you could watch the life leave their eyes," someone added.

There was a sneer in Bellatrix's silky voice. "This is true, Alecto. Perhaps that day has finally arrived…"

Harry clenched his fists. He had to save the Weasleys while Bellatrix was distracted. Clutching at handfuls of grass, he frantically scoured his mind for possible ways to grab the Weasleys and get away before the Death Eaters noticed. He could think of none.

_Kill them,_ a small voice in the back of his mind urged. _Stunning is no use; you have to end it. It's the only way._

Gripping his wand tightly with one hand and clutching the cloak around him with the other, Harry stood up shakily. He crept closer, trying to find Bellatrix's face in the sea of blackness. Aiming for the others first would be no use; he had to kill _her_, the leader.

"Children…"

The sound of Mrs Weasley's sudden groan reached Harry's ears, stopping him in his tracks.

"No… please… children…"

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

In the shock of the bright green light that followed the screamed incantation, Harry's grip on his Invisibility Cloak went slack. Numbed by ripples of shock, Harry didn't even notice when the cloak fell to the ground, exposing his presence.

_No._

As this one word resounded in Harry's head, pounding tattoos against his skull, his eyes lifted up from Mrs Weasley's limp body – and met with an equally-shocked silver pair.

And so Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy stood, their gazes locked in mutual disbelief, as the world shuddered to a halt around them. For a second that felt like eternity, Harry forgot to breathe. Malfoy was there. Malfoy had seen him. Malfoy _knew_. And then Malfoy lowered his eyes, hiding them in the shadows beneath his hood and breaking the connection just in time for Harry to catch the second flash of green light. Suddenly, the weight of the situation came crashing back down around him.

Dropping to the ground, Harry fumbled around for his Invisibility Cloak. _Put it on and get out of here before they see you!_ the small voice screamed once he found it. Harry automatically obeyed, swinging the cloak around his shoulders and stumbling to his feet.

But no. He couldn't leave yet. Even if there was nothing he could do to save Ron's parents, even if he had failed, he couldn't let Bellatrix go again.

"Aunt Bellatrix, perhaps we should leave the bodies and return to headquarters," Malfoy's cold voice murmured just as Harry whipped around, every vein throbbing with venomous hatred, every muscle in his body tensed and ready to say the two words that would take away Bellatrix's life.

Harry faltered. Malfoy hadn't given him away. He could have easily revealed that Harry was standing there, wand raised and ready to attack, but instead, he was telling them to leave the area. He was… covering for Harry?

_GET A GRIP! DO IT NOW!_

Clearing his mind of all thoughts of Malfoy, all thoughts of anything but the pure loathing he felt for the wasted, manic woman who had taken away from him three of the people who had cared for him the most, Harry tightened his grip on his wand. He could see Bellatrix clearly now. She was standing next to Malfoy, mouthing words Harry couldn't hear past the deafening rush of blood in his ears.

"_Avada_ –" he rasped through parched lips. His hands trembled violently. He couldn't do it.

But then another rush of hatred swelled up from somewhere deep within him, and all he could see was blackness – blackness, out of which Bellatrix's waxy face, twisted by malice, suddenly appeared. Harry knew at that moment that even if he tried to stop himself, he wouldn't be able to. Bellatrix had gone too far, had taken away too much from Harry, and he couldn't just let her walk away again without taking something from her, too.

And so, consumed completely by a kind of evil he had never known before, Harry Potter crossed the final threshold between innocence and darkness.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"


	2. A Whim

**A/N: **I know the Dementor's Kiss doesn't actually kill victims, but for the sake of moving things along, I'll use words like "death" and "kill" to refer to the Dementor's Kiss throughout this fic.

_The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing._  
- Blaise Pascal

**Chapter 1:** A Whim

The sun rose on a mild, grey morning, casting its pale glow on the slumbering streets of London. Friday, October 9, 1997. Exactly one week ago, the world had ended and begun anew. Exactly one week ago, the Dark Lord had fallen, taking chaos, violence, and hatred with him.

The world stirred. Curtains were pulled back to allow feeble rays of sunlight in; doors were opened to welcome the occasional breeze. A new day was beginning.

--

Harry Potter woke up that morning with a start. Something felt different. He automatically reached over to the bedside table next to him and groped around for his glasses. After a few seconds, he found them and put them on. Immediately, his surroundings came into sharper focus.

He was in a bedroom, though not one immediately recognisable. The walls around him were coated in a layer of peeling yellow paint, and the only pieces of furniture in the room other than the bed and the table next to it were a rickety wooden chair, placed a metre or so away from the door, and a dusty, cracked mirror, which hung on the wall above the chair.

Harry sat up, surprised to feel the cool air on his bare chest. Since when did he sleep without a shirt on? He blinked and shifted his weight on the mattress. A sense of apprehension crept up on him when he realised that he wasn't wearing anything on his lower half either. He definitely _never_ slept without pyjama bottoms on.

Slowly, Harry twisted around to look beside him. He gulped. If it was uncommon for him to sleep naked, he was simply, positively, absolutely _sure_ that it was even more unusual for Ginny Weasley to be lying next to him, fast asleep, when he woke up in the morning.

Harry felt a blush rise in his cheeks as he took in Ginny's bare shoulders and back. "Oh," he said faintly, averting his eyes.

Even the disconcerting knowledge that he and Ginny had somehow managed to fall asleep in the same bed without any clothes on could not bring back memories of the previous night. Try as he might, Harry could not remember for the life of him how he had ended up in this strange room.

Slowly, deliberately, he edged out from under the covers. The moment his feet touched the floor, he dropped to his knees and began desperately hunting for his clothes.

He found a rumpled pair of trousers and a stained t-shirt easily, but could not, no matter how extensively he searched, find his robes.

"Harry?"

_Fuck._

"Yeah," Harry said feebly, straightening up. "Morning, Ginny."

There was a brief pause, and then: "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said again, nonplussed. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Ginny looked away. "Never mind."

Harry blinked and stood up. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"They'll be back later," Ginny answered, still avoiding Harry's gaze.

"Er… about us… whatever happened, I'm sorry if I –"

"No, Harry, I'm the one who should be apologising," said Ginny, sitting up and clutching the covers tightly around her. "I thought it would have worn off by now."

"Thought… thought what would have worn off?" Harry asked, wariness creeping over him.

Ginny lowered her eyes. "The Forgetfulness Potion."

"What's that?" Harry said sharply.

Ginny's shoulders tensed and she looked back up at Harry. There was a defiant gleam in her eyes. "I gave you a Forgetfulness Potion last night. It was just so you could forget about everything that happened for one night."

A cold sense of horror gripped Harry. "Forget…" he repeated, but even as he said the word, a tiny portion of the fog clouding his mind cleared, and a stream of memories began to trickle in through the opening left behind.

Harry sat down heavily on the end of the bed and clutched at his head. The potion was wearing off; recollections of everything that happened in the past few months were returning to him. The deaths… the Order's attempts to imprison him in headquarters and his subsequent escape… the purging of the last Horcrux from within him…

Harry began to tremble violently as he remembered all the horrible details his mind had so gladly repressed with the help of the potion. Before he could stop himself, he doubled over and vomited on the floor.

When he surfaced, he refused to meet Ginny's eyes. Instead, he swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up, shaking all over.

"I need some time alone," he mumbled. Before Ginny could object, he lurched to the door, jerked it open, and stumbled out of the room.

Once outside, Harry fell back against the door with a dull thud. His mind was spinning dangerously. Last night – he remembered everything so vividly now. McGonagall had told him and Ginny that Hogwarts, which had been forced to close due to the threat of the war, had reopened and that they were to return to complete their education. Harry had protested, but McGonagall had been firm about his going back. After that, Ginny had led him to the Leaky Cauldron and tried to ease his pain by buying him drink after drink… She had, of course, somehow slipped the Forgetfulness Potion into one of them… and then they had… they'd…

Harry winced, feeling hot waves of embarrassment swell up and heat his cheeks. Had he really slept with Ginny? And if so, why the hell couldn't he remember it? It had to be some sort of crime, not recalling the details of the first time. Then again, Harry wasn't sure he even _wanted_ to remember. The last thing he needed was one more thing to worry about.

_Concentrate on the situation at hand,_ he instructed himself. _You're at the Leaky Cauldron. Now do something about it._

Harry inhaled. He needed a breath of fresh air to still the synchronised somersaults his mind and stomach were doing. Being out of the room wasn't good enough; he still felt confined.

Harry easily located the stairs, descended them, and managed to leave the pub without catching the attention of any patrons. The street outside was already bustling with activity despite the early hour. Harry felt an immense and inexplicable sense of safety wash over him as he looked around him. He was in Muggle London now. Here, he wouldn't be suddenly confronted by strangers… Here, he could be as inconspicuous as he wanted…

What struck Harry the hardest about the Muggle world was how _ordinary_ everything was. Thanks to the Ministry's quick action in erasing the memories of those who had survived Voldemort's mass murders, none of the people passing him by remembered anything about the war that had raged for the past few months or the family members and friends who had been killed in it. They had all been forced into the blissful ignorance of forgetfulness.

Harry swallowed, tasting his own bile in his throat. He had to get away. But where? Where could he go? He had no family with whom he could seek refuge. The war had scattered the Weasleys, and he didn't have a clue where the Order was. Save for Ginny, Ron, and Hermione (and he still couldn't remember where the latter two had gone), he had no one in the world to turn to.

Harry reached into the pockets of his trousers, hoping to at least find some Muggle coins. Instead, his right hand closed around what felt like a crumpled piece of paper. He extracted it, wondering what it could be.

It was an article from the _Daily Prophet_.

_**YOU-KNOW-WHO SUPPORTER TO STAND TRIAL**_

_The string of recent Death Eater arrests continued with the discovery and incarceration of Draco Malfoy, 17, yesterday afternoon. According to Gawain Robards, recently appointed Head of the Auror office, Malfoy had been hiding in a remote area of the Whispering Woods during most of the war. He vehemently insisted he was innocent upon being found. Veritaserum, however, discredited his claims, and Hit Wizards promptly took him into custody._

_Malfoy's trial is scheduled to take place on Friday, October 9, 1997. Auror Frank Dawlish spoke on the matter, saying, "We're all thrilled about Malfoy's capture. His father, Lucius Malfoy, was a notorious Death Eater, and as they say, 'like father, like son'. Even though we have a trial scheduled, none of us have any doubt in our minds that Malfoy will be sentenced to receive the Dementor's Kiss, or at least a good few years in Azkaban. As for the rest of his lot, suffice it to say that we've only got a few more of them to round up before all this is over."_

_The total count of captured Death Eaters has, with Malfoy's arrest, risen to 42._

Harry blinked and reread the article. When the words finally sunk in, his heart leapt into his throat. Draco Malfoy was going to receive the Dementor's Kiss. Shocked, Harry stood stock-still. The image of Malfoy's stunned grey eyes the night he had killed Bellatrix squeezed its way out of the deeper recesses of his memory and into his conscious mind's eye. _That_ Malfoy was going to die?

Driven by a sudden desire to go see the trial, Harry crossed the street. Even though the article had not stated the time or location of the hearing, he somehow knew that when he arrived at the Ministry of Magic, everything would work itself out.

Luckily, Harry knew exactly how to get to the Ministry; he had been there more times than he cared to count. His feet carried him down familiar sidewalks, allowing his mind to freely wander to anything… anything but the last two weeks, which were suddenly oh-so-clear…

Before he knew it, Harry had arrived at an old, broken-down telephone box situated in the middle of a dingy, deserted street. He stepped into it, shut the door behind him, and dialled the numbers six, two, four, four, two.

The welcome witch's voice immediately rang out in the small space. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry Potter, here to attend the trial being held to decide Draco Malfoy's sentence," Harry replied automatically.

"Thank you. Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

Harry watched as a small silver badge tumbled out of the coin chute, catching it just before it fell to the ground. He examined it and smiled wryly at the words written on it: _The Chosen One, Draco Malfoy's Trial_. Even here, he could not escape the wizarding world's obsession with him – but then again, had he really come all the way to the Ministry expecting to?

As the floor of the telephone box began descending into the ground, Harry felt a twinge of guilt. He had left Ginny behind without any sort of explanation or apology.

_It's her fault,_ he thought, clenching his fist around his visitor's badge. _Thinking she could erase everything that's happened with alcohol and magic…_

When at last the door of the telephone box swung open, Harry had to shield his eyes from the bright light that greeted him. He blinked several times before stepping out into the Atrium of the Ministry.

Several heads swivelled in Harry's direction as he made his way down the long, gleaming hall. Though he was uncomfortably aware of his less-than-appropriate appearance, Harry walked on without letting his façade of composure slip. The security wizard at the end of the hallway stood back and let him pass without a word, and when he arrived at the lifts, the long line of Ministry employees waiting for it parted wordlessly for him.

Harry felt an unexpected surge of rage. He hated the way people treated him like he was some sort of deity, some sort of superior being to them. He wanted to whip out his wand and curse all of them for staring at him with such reverent expressions. What right did they have to admire him? They didn't know anything about him; all they had was a false illusion of heroism.

Still, it was convenient, and Harry couldn't help feeling grateful for being spared the trouble of having to wait in line. He walked towards the lift, trying his best to avoid the gawking of the people around him, and waited for it to arrive. When it did, he was relieved to find that it was empty.

Quickly, he walked into the lift. No one followed him, though there was plenty of room inside, and a few seconds later, the golden grilles slid shut and the lift began shuddering downwards. Harry waited silently, feeling strangely impassive towards everything in the world. Vaguely, he wondered why the notion of seeing Malfoy's trial appealed to him so much. As the article he still clutched in one hand stated, Malfoy's capture had been preceded by 41 others, and Harry hadn't cared about any of _those_.

_Then again, I didn't know any of them as well as Malfoy. And… well, none of them saved me from a horde of potentially murderous Death Eaters._

"Department of Mysteries." The lift halted and its doors slid open. Harry stepped out.

He looked around the bare corridor and noted, with some surprise, that nothing, not even the black double doors leading into the Department of Mysteries at the end of the hall, had changed since his last visit. Of course, only a year or so had passed since then, but so much of Harry's life was different now that he almost felt annoyed that the Department of Mysteries stood unaffected, a staunch reminder of the prophecy that had started and ended it all.

Harry tore his gaze away from the doors and turned to the left, where there was an opening leading to a dark staircase. He descended slowly, lost in his thoughts. They had begun to use Courtroom Ten regularly again; a tribute to the time Harry Potter had attended a disciplinary hearing there, they claimed.

Harry reached the bottom of the steps and found another corridor waiting for him. Courtroom Ten was situated at the very end of it; even though Harry had only been down here once, he knew. When he reached the foreboding door with its iron bolt, he blinked. His hand lingered on the door handle as his mind flashed back to the morning of his disciplinary hearing when Mr Weasley had rushed him down here, only to send him into the courtroom alone.

But Mr Weasley was gone now. Having no desire to dwell on this particular fact, Harry shook his head to clear it away, turned the door handle, and stepped into the courtroom. Not once did he consider the possibility that his unexpected presence might disturb the trial being held.

It seemed the trial had not yet begun. When Harry entered the large dungeon, all whispering and talking ceased at once. Harry looked around, but he could not see anything from where he stood; thus, he walked towards the chair in the centre of the room. He had seen this chair many times in his dreams and, on the day of his trial, even sat in it. Despite his familiarity with it, however, a thrill of dread still crawled up his spine at the sight of the chains covering its arms.

The interrogators sitting in the middle of the front bench, all of whom Harry could not identify, looked up in unison when he stepped into sight. For a moment, they stared at him blankly; then, the plump wizard sitting at the centre of the bench grinned broadly, his face brightening.

"Harry Potter!" he exclaimed jovially, clapping his hands in delight. "Merlin's Beard! What a pleasant surprise!"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "Er, sir, if I may ask, who are you?"

A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd of spectators sitting in the benches around Harry. The wizard who had addressed Harry chuckled merrily, apparently not at all disturbed by Harry's lack of enthusiasm at seeing him.

"Leonard Jorkins, at your service," he said, beaming. "Sit down, my dear boy, sit down! The trial is just about to begin… Those Hit Wizards certainly enjoy taking their time…"

Without bothering to consider his reasons for staying, Harry obediently climbed the narrow steps that led into the raised benches. He found an unoccupied seat in the second row next to an old witch with loose grey hair and sat down.

After a while, the pairs of eyes that had flicked over in Harry's direction looked away and whispered conversations resumed. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He shouldn't have come here…

Just then, a loud knock penetrated the low murmurs in the courtroom. Harry tensed, his senses oddly heightened.

"About time," the witch next to Harry muttered under her breath.

"The accused may now enter," Jorkins said, his voice ringing across the courtroom, surprisingly clear and authoritative.

There was the sound of a door creaking open, followed by the echo of footsteps on the cold, stone floor. Harry craned his neck, desperate to see what was going on.

At first, there appeared to be nothing moving below; then, slowly, a head of white-blond hair made its way out of the darkness. As the accused walked into the pool of dim light cast by the torches around the dungeon, it became clear that the reason for his sluggish movement could be attributed to the six Dementors flanking him.

Harry's sharp intake of breath was lost amidst the revival of the mutters that had pervaded the courtroom earlier. In the excitement elicited by the arrival of the defendant, no one noticed the Chosen One blanch and grip the bench beneath him so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

If, one year ago, Harry had been shown a picture of the young man sitting chained to the chair in the centre of the room and told that he was Draco Malfoy, he would have laughed and walked away, for this Draco Malfoy looked nothing like his former self. His sleek blond locks were matted and tangled; the rags he wore hung loosely and ungracefully off his thin frame; and his sunken cheeks gave him the look of a starved madman. As far as Harry could tell, the only feature of Malfoy's that had survived the war was his eyes: they glittered coldly like two polished stones in his pale, drawn face.

Stunned, Harry barely noticed when the trial began. He blocked out Jorkins's voice as he began reciting the details of the hearing to the Court Scribe. How could Malfoy have changed so much? It had only been a few months since they had last seen each other. Had the strain of the war really taken that much of a toll on him?

"…use of the three Unforgivable Curses to torture and/or murder four Muggles and two wizards, one of whom was an Auror; brewing of illegal potions listed under the multiple sections of the Registry of Proscribed Brewable Potions; and otherwise involvement in the Dark Arts," Jorkins was saying when Harry tuned back into the trial. "The charges against the accused, of which there are six in total, therefore violate a total of eight Ministry laws. Do you or do you not deny the verity of this statement, Draco Lucius Malfoy?"

Harry watched closely as Malfoy glared up at Jorkins, his grey eyes dark with malice. "I do not," he said coldly, surprising Harry with his ability to still compose himself in the presence of the Dementors.

"Very well, then," Jorkins said triumphantly. "If there are no objections –"

"I'm afraid I have one to add," said a voice from one of the upper rows.

Everyone swivelled around to see who had spoken. Harry was the first to recognise the voice, having just heard it the night before.

"Professor McGonagall?"

It was indeed. She had stood up and now glared sternly down at the three interrogators over her wire-rimmed glasses. "I object."

Jorkins blinked. Quickly, he looked to the round-faced witch sitting next to him and muttered something inaudible. She shook her head slightly at him and turned to face McGonagall. "Minerva McGonagall, is it?"

"Yes."

"And what are your reasons for objecting, madam?"

McGonagall drew herself up to her full height. "This boy must finish school before he goes to Azkaban."

A bewildered silence followed McGonagall's proclamation.

"So you mean to say…"

"…that I intend to accept him back into Hogwarts and have him complete his final year there, yes," McGonagall finished. Her frosty tone never wavered. "Regardless of his crimes, he is only seventeen years of age and just as deserving of an education as any ordinary young man."

Harry gaped at McGonagall. Was she serious?

"If you don't believe me," she continued, as if Harry's thoughts had somehow reached her ears, "you may try to interfere. Keep in mind, however, that I will not give up easily. Albus" – her voice softened as she said the former Headmaster's name – "would have been very adamant about having all his former students return to Hogwarts."

Another round of mutters swept through the crowd. Dumbledore! She had brought up Dumbledore! That was it; there was simply no manoeuvring out of an argument that concerned Dumbledore.

Throughout all of this, Malfoy remained stony-faced and silent. Despite his situation, he sat in the chair exactly as a king might sit in his throne: high and proud, with his shoulders held back and his chin tilted up defiantly. Even when McGonagall stood up to interfere on his behalf, he did not look at anyone but Jorkins. Harry couldn't help admiring his steadfastness.

Having now heard McGonagall's argument, the interrogators in the front began whispering furiously amongst themselves. The tension in the air of the courtroom thickened considerably, and Harry found himself all but holding his breath in fear of… well, he didn't really know.

Finally, after several minutes of quiet discussion, the interrogators straightened up.

"We have considered your proposition, Minerva, and it appears that it is a valid alternative to the court's current verdict," Jorkins said stiffly. "However, we have several concerns regarding the flaws in your plan of action that will need to be addressed before we proceed with the vote."

"And those are?"

Jorkins cleared his throat. "First of all, Malfoy is a convicted Death Eater who is fully capable of performing all three Unforgivables, not to mention several other –"

"I shall arrange to have his wand tracked and its magic limited, then," McGonagall replied without skipping a beat. "You can rest assured that we will be alerted the moment Malfoy steps out of Hogwarts boundaries during his stay. Moreover, his wand will not be capable of performing magic that is not necessary to his academic performance. Surely you do not expect me to place any more restraints on the boy? Perhaps you would be satisfied with shackles on his wrists to prevent him from leaving his dormitory between classes? I'm very sorry to say that's not an option; unlike your law enforcement department, I am not inclined to chain those under my power to their seats."

A few titters rose from the shadowed upper rows, but they died away quickly. Jorkins, on the other hand, looked rather discomfited by McGonagall's implied admonishment.

"There's still the question of the trauma his presence at Hogwarts would inflict on his fellow students!"

"I'm quite sure that, having already suffered through six years with Mr Malfoy, his classmates can bear to withstand one more," McGonagall said coolly.

It appeared that Jorkins could find no more faults in McGonagall's plan of action, because he turned immediately to his partner and began muttering rapidly in undertones to her. This time, the crowd did not have to wait very long for them to reach a decision.

"Those in favour of allowing the accused to finish his final year at Hogwarts before carrying out his sentence?" the round-faced witch said loudly, standing up.

Harry looked around him. Hands were rising, some slower than others. He frantically tried to count them all, but found that he couldn't concentrate. Even so, his heart inexplicably sank when he realised that only about half of the courtroom had voted in favour of McGonagall's suggestion.

"And those in favour of the conviction?"

Again, approximately half of the hands in the room were raised. Harry held his breath. He hadn't counted, and the outcomes of the two votes had been too close to tell just by sight. Had McGonagall won?

An ominous silence spread again as the three judges fell to another round of frenzied whispering. At last, Jorkins looked up, an expression of severe disappointment on his face. "It appears that this courtroom has been split in half over the verdict."

Several members of the crowd gasped. The wizard sitting behind Harry even ventured so far as to exclaim, "No!"

"Unfortunately," Jorkins continued over the restless murmuring his announcement had elicited, "in such a case, there –"

"Wait!" Before he knew what he was doing, Harry stood up. "I – I'd like to vote in favour of sending him to Hogwarts."

Harry gulped and closed his eyes tightly, willing his suddenly rampaging nerves to slow down. Anxiously, he glanced up at McGonagall. She looked just as surprised as the rest of the court by his sudden contribution, but pleased nonetheless. Upon catching Harry's eye, she nodded encouragingly. This eased some of Harry's trepidation, and he continued.

"I know I'm not part of the jury or anything" – his eyes swept uneasily over the fifty or so members of the Wizengamot, all of whom were wearing robes emblazoned with a silver W and staring at Harry with expressions varying from confusion to fascination – "but I agree with Professor McGonagall. I think Mal – the accused ought to be allowed to finish school." He chewed on his bottom lip. "Even if he's going to… to…"

Unable to bring himself to say the word "die", Harry sat back down on the bench, his face red. He was surely in trouble now.

To his astonishment, however, when he ventured a quick look at the Wizengamot and interrogators, he found that almost all of them, including Jorkins, were smiling and nodding.

"Well!" Jorkins said, clasping his hands. "That's that, then. If Harry Potter says so… and of course, such compassion is to be expected…"

Harry nodded rapidly. Now that he had spoken, a sense of embarrassment dawned upon him. He was dying to see Malfoy's reaction to the sudden verdict, but he couldn't bring himself to look at anything but the ground, so he stood back up. "Er, if you don't mind, I'm going to leave now…"

"Yes, yes, and thank you very much for attending our trial today, Harry." Jorkins cleared his throat. "Very well, this court is now adjourned. Minerva, if you would please step down… I'd like to have a word…"

Meanwhile, Harry had already dashed out of the dungeon, down the corridor, and up the stairs leading to the ninth level. Once he reached the lift, he jabbed at the up button several times before bending over with his hands on his knees, completely spent.

Harry took a few moments to catch his breath. When he finally straightened back up, he couldn't help bringing his hands up to his face in frustration. Only one thought ran through his head:

_What in the world just happened?_


	3. An Encounter

_What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from._  
- T.S. Eliot

**Chapter 2:** An Encounter

Harry eventually returned to the Leaky Cauldron. When he walked in, he immediately located Ginny sitting at one of the tables at the back of the pub and made his way over to her. For several minutes after he sat down, neither of them said anything to the other. Harry had no intention of telling Ginny where he had been or what he had done, and she, in turn, did not ask.

After a while, Harry spoke up. "Ginny…"

She looked up. Her eyes were a dull, washed-out shade of brown. "I'm sorry, Harry. But you were hurting and I had to do something."

Harry looked away. He couldn't tell her it was okay; it wasn't. "Did we… y'know… last night…?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have slipped the potion into your drink. I'm so sorry, Harry. I wasn't thinking straight; you were in an awful condition, and all I could focus on was making you feel better. I know this probably doesn't mean anything to you, but if it's any consolation, I won't hold you to anything. We don't have to do it again, I promise."

Harry flinched. "Right."

He stared at the faded rings in the wooden surface of the table, at a complete loss for words. What _could_ he say? _"About last night… sorry, I don't remember any of it, but that's your fault for slipping that Forgetfulness Potion into my drink, so let's pretend it never happened"_? As inadequate as Harry was when it came to romance, even _he_ knew better than to say something so frank.

When he felt Ginny lay a hand on his arm, Harry looked up. She was watching him with concern in her eyes. "You know you have to go back to Hogwarts on Sunday, right?"

Harry's mind flashed back to the trial. Malfoy would be at Hogwarts, too.

"Yeah," he said listlessly. "Yeah, I know."

"Good. I was worried I'd have to drag you along with me. McGonagall is right. It's what Dumbledore would have wanted."

"Dumbledore would have wanted all of us to be happy and alive right now," said Harry, his anger roused by the mention of his former mentor. "Dumbledore would have wanted your mum and dad and Neville and – and Seamus and everyone else to be sitting here with us right now, not lying dead under some mound of dirt. Not everything can end up the way Dumbledore would have wanted it to!"

Ginny sighed wearily. "I know, Harry, I _know_. Those things can't be changed, though. This _can_."

Harry shook his head incredulously. "Ginny, how can you be so calm about this? What are we going to do now? We have nowhere left to _go_! The Burrow and Grimmauld Place are gone, and we sure as hell can't sit here at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of our lives."

Ginny's eyes were sparkling with what looked suspiciously like tears now, but her voice was steady when she answered. "We have each other. We have Ron and my other brothers and Hermione and Luna. We have Hogwarts. Don't you see, Harry? We _won_. We're lucky we came out of the war with everything we _do_ have."

Harry clenched his fists under the table. _She doesn't understand anything,_ he thought furiously. _She has no idea what it's like to live through each day feeling like you've lost a part of yourself._

He took a deep, steadying breath. "About Ron and Hermione… where are they?"

"They're with the Order right now." Ginny seemed frazzled by the effort of trying to talk sense into Harry.

"You mean they just left us here?"

"You were ill, Harry," Ginny said firmly, immediately picking up on Harry's indignation. "The Order needed their help in sorting some things out, and you needed rest, so they left me to take care of you."

Harry jumped to his feet. "I'm perfectly fine! Where are they right now? I'll go help them!"

Glaring, Ginny grabbed his wrist and forced him to sit back down. "No you won't. You're going to sit down and stop torturing yourself about the war. For Merlin's sake, Harry, you were unconscious for three days after it ended! And in case you don't remember, after you finally woke up, you nearly killed yourself – _twice_."

Harry scowled. "The first time was an accident."

"Oh, that's comforting," Ginny said sarcastically. "At least I know now that you only intended to die once!"

Harry decided there was no point in explaining to Ginny that the second time had only been a test to see if he was as insubstantial as he had felt (and still felt, to some extent, although he had to grudgingly admit that he was feeling significantly more stable than he had been feeling a week ago).

"D'you… d'you suppose Malfoy will be there?" he asked. "And all the Slytherins?"

Ginny looked relieved by the change of subject. "I expect the ones who didn't run to You-Know-Who will come back. They have no choice but to. But… I don't know about the Death Eaters."

"There weren't many of them."

"Malfoy was one."

Harry felt a mysterious flash of annoyance. "I know."

"He's probably been caught by now," Ginny said absently. She was staring at the busy bar, her eyes unfocused. "His dad was a big Death Eater; they'll know of his connections."

"He was."

"Hmm?"

"He _was_ caught already," Harry repeated in a louder voice. "I saw… I mean, I read it. In the _Daily Prophet_. He had his trial today."

"Oh," said Ginny, not looking interested at all. There was a glimmer of sadness in her eyes, and for a moment, Harry felt guilty about snapping at her. It wasn't her fault, everything that had happened to him. But, unfortunately for her, she was the only one he could take his anger out on at the moment.

Harry stood up abruptly. "Let's go."

"Where?" Ginny asked, following suit.

"Somewhere. Anywhere. I don't want to be around all these people."

They exited the pub through the back, ignoring the curious looks that followed them out.

"We need to buy our school books, so… Diagon Alley?" Ginny suggested as they shut the door behind them. "By the way, Harry, where are your robes? You ought to purchase a set if you lost them; it's cold outside."

"I'm sure people will fall over their feet to give the Boy Who Lived their robes once they realise he's in need of a set."

"Very funny," Ginny said humourlessly.

Harry was not surprised to find that Diagon Alley bore signs of the recent war. It was, after all, one of the first places Voldemort's followers had attacked. Now, scores of witches and wizards were working together to rebuild the shops that had crumbled to the ground. Harry's mouth twisted into a sour smile at this display of collaboration. Of course; they were just happy to see the fighting end. They thought that with cooperation, they could restore everything that had been lost during those last few months.

_Not everything,_ he thought bitterly. _They can't fix everything._

"Don't worry about Ron and Hermione," said Ginny as they passed a group of young children carrying ice cream cones and chatting excitedly. "They're coming back tomorrow, so they can buy their things then. Let's go buy you a set of robes first."

"I haven't got any money on me."

"Don't be silly. Gringotts is still standing."

Taking a firm hold of Harry's arm, Ginny tugged him towards the tall, snowy white wizarding bank. Throughout the war, it had been the one place Voldemort couldn't destroy; this was, according to rumour, due to the centuries-old, impenetrable protective spells its builders had cast around it.

The two security goblins standing on guard in the entrance chamber when Harry and Ginny entered bowed deeply before opening the silver doors that led into the main hall. Harry remembered all the times he had been here with Hagrid and the Weasleys, and his throat tightened.

Once inside, Harry and Ginny made their way over to the counter. They got in line behind a tall, stern-looking witch and waited until a free goblin was available.

"We're here to withdraw money from Harry Potter's vault," Ginny said once they were motioned to the front.

"Key?" growled the goblin.

Ginny looked questioningly at Harry.

Harry blushed. "I, er, don't have it with me."

In truth, he didn't even know where the key was. Other than his wand and a few scraps of clothing, the only possessions from the pre-war days he had kept with him were his father's Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder's Map (not because he had thought he would need it, but because it was one of the few relics of his parents' days he owned), and his broomstick.

The goblin peered at Harry over his pince-nez in a very McGonagall-like manner. "Harry Potter, yes?"

"Yeah," Harry said uncomfortably.

"If you would hold out your hand, sir..."

Bemused, Harry did so. The goblin leaned over the countertop and studied Harry's palm closely. Then, without a word, he bent down behind the counter and began fumbling around for something. When he straightened up again, he was clutching a tiny silver key.

"Your key, sir," the goblin said, presenting it to Harry.

"Er –"

"It's the replica the bank keeps," Ginny explained. "Go on, take it."

Harry reached out and took the key. "Thanks."

"Anything for you, madam?" the goblin asked, turning his piercing gaze to Ginny.

"Yes, hold on…" Ginny reached into one of her robe pockets, extracted a golden key the same size as Harry's, and placed it on the countertop. "Here you are."

The goblin picked it up and examined it before handing it back to Ginny. "Very well. Kongar will take you to your vaults. Kongar!"

The goblin named Kongar appeared almost instantly. "Follow me," he grunted to Harry and Ginny.

As they trailed after Kongar, Harry looked around surreptitiously. The visitors to the bank were all gawking at him. Up until this moment, Harry could have cared less about his rumpled appearance, but now he couldn't help feeling somewhat self-conscious.

They reached a heavy iron door at the end of the hall. Kongar opened it and led Harry and Ginny into a dark chamber. On cue, a small cart sped into sight and screeched to a halt in front of them. They clambered into it and, with a loud rumble, hurtled off into the labyrinth of stone caverns.

--

Half an hour later, Harry and Ginny emerged from the underground vaults, both somewhat shaken by the heart-stopping cart rides that had taken them there and back. Distracted witches and wizards jostled Harry and Ginny around as they tried to make their way to the exit.

"You'd think they'd have better things to do than hang around waiting to withdraw money," Ginny grumbled as she ducked to avoid a large handbag that had seemingly materialised out of nowhere.

Harry paid no attention to Ginny's complaints, because at that instant, his gaze landed on the person he had least expected to see: Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy was standing by the counter next to – and Harry had to blink several times to convince himself of this – McGonagall, staring listlessly into space as she dealt with a goblin. Harry noted that he looked considerably better than he had earlier that morning. He'd washed and slicked back his hair and exchanged his rags for a modest set of grey robes. Even the worst of the cuts and bruises on his face had been healed. Harry would never have guessed just from looking at Malfoy at that moment that he was a former Death Eater, condemned to receive the Dementor's Kiss in nine months' time.

"Harry?"

"Hang on," Harry said tersely, holding out a hand. He had stopped in his tracks to stare at Malfoy.

Ginny halted as well. "Harry, what are you –?"

She never finished her sentence, for she had followed Harry's gaze to Malfoy. Her eyes narrowed. "What's he doing here?"

Harry started at the coldness in Ginny's voice. For a moment, he wondered what had elicited her sudden anger. Then he remembered that Malfoy had been there the night of her parents' murders. Of course. How could he have forgotten?

"Let's –"

The rest of the sentence died on Harry's lips when Malfoy's gaze unexpectedly shifted over to him. The moment their eyes met, he drew in a sharp breath.

Despite the distance between them, Harry could see the hatred in Malfoy's spiteful grey eyes. A chill ran down Harry's spine. For a long moment, the two stayed locked in their heated but wordless exchange, neither willing to look away first. Harry was aware of his own heartbeat in his ears, drowning out the sound of the people around him, trapping him in a world where only he, Malfoy, and their loathing for one another existed. It was as though they had been brought back to _that_ night, when their eyes had met and Malfoy had looked away almost instantly, except this time he _didn't_ look away.

Ginny's insistent tugging on his arm pulled Harry out of his reverie. Dazed, he blinked and turned to her.

"Let's go," she said quietly.

It was more of an order than a suggestion, so Harry followed Ginny towards the main doors, only faintly conscious of his sudden heavy breathing. Even after they walked out into the bright afternoon sunlight, he still couldn't shake off the sensation of Malfoy's eyes boring into his own.

There had been something frightening, something almost inhuman in those glittering grey orbs. It was not, as Harry had initially thought, the revulsion he had seen there that bothered him the most. What truly disturbed Harry about that fleeting moment when time and space had stopped around him and Malfoy was the fear: the fear that had lain hidden, but not completely so, beneath that cold, grey cover of abhorrence.

--

Draco watched with narrowed eyes as Potter and Weasley left the bank together. Even when they disappeared, his gaze lingered for several minutes on the silver doors through which they had walked out.

What the hell was Potter playing at? Three hours after the end of the trial, Draco still couldn't figure it out. It _had_ been Potter, after all, who'd saved him from receiving the Dementor's Kiss immediately. But _why_?

Bitter fury bubbled up inside Draco as a disturbing possibility occurred to him. Could Potter have done it to mock him? Had he chosen to delay Draco's death because he knew how agonising, how unbearable it would be for Draco to wake up every morning for the next nine months, knowing he was one day closer to his death? And then there was the fact that he was now _indebted_ to Potter, a punishment far beyond what he deserved.

Draco gritted his teeth as a stocky wizard bumped into him. He wanted to lash out at the man, at _everyone_ like him. Draco wasn't blind; he could see people's eyes brimming with dislike, disgust, and, worst of all, derision when they looked at him. They knew who he was, but they could laugh now because they were no longer scared. They had the upper hand. It was, in a word, humiliating.

Draco trembled with suppressed rage. He didn't want to be here. Even Azkaban's holding cells were preferable to this. At least when the Dementors were around, he could be alone, wrapped up in a blanket of despair. _Numb._ That was his ideal state of existence. He wanted to be like ice, so cold that he wouldn't have to feel at all.

But now Draco was back in the world of the living, preparing to return to Hogwarts for one final school year. He had been given a second chance at life. It was a sick, twisted blessing. _You have nine months to do what you've never had the chance to do, but none of it really matters, since you're dead after that, anyway._

"Come along, Mr Malfoy." McGonagall's sharp voice pulled Draco from his thoughts. "You'll need a wand before we begin shopping for your other school materials."

_My wand. Oh yes, they snapped it,_ Draco remembered faintly.

Without a word, Draco followed McGonagall out of the bank. Once on the white marble steps, she handed him the large bag of coins they had extracted from Draco's vault.

"Take this, and mind you don't lose it."

"I don't need you to come with me," Draco snapped. "I can buy my own things."

McGonagall frowned severely at him. "And be seen wandering around on your own by Ministry workers? I'm afraid I can't let that happen."

Draco scowled. "Doesn't the headmistress have anything better to do than escort a juvenile delinquent around?"

She smiled grimly at him as they approached Ollivander's, which had reopened just a day ago. "Not unless you can provide a valid reason as to why I should let a convicted Death Eater run rampant about Diagon Alley."

Draco clenched his fists, but said no more.

--

"Harry, are you all right?"

Harry jumped. "Yeah," he said, hastily putting down the book he'd been staring absently at for the past five minutes.

"You sure?" Ginny asked, bending over to peer at cover of the book. "I never knew you were into _101 Ways to Catch a Garden Gnome_."

"Secret passion of mine," Harry said dully, turning around. "We ready to go?"

Ginny sighed. "Is it really okay for me to take your money like this? I really would use my own, but we didn't have much left…"

"Don't worry about it. I don't even know what to do with all the gold I have, especially considering the decrease in Christmas presents I'll be buying this year."

Ginny was silent for a moment, and Harry knew she was struggling to control her exasperation. "I'll pay you back as soon as I can," she finally said.

"Don't bother. Where are we going now?"

"Wherever you want to go. We're done shopping."

"Let's go back to the Leaky Cauldron, then," Harry said, relieved that he would no longer have to endure the agony of being stared at from every direction.

"Okay." Ginny handed a bag full of books to Harry. "Here, these are yours."

"Thanks."

Harry reached down and took Ginny's hand in his own as they left Flourish and Blotts and began making their way down the street. She looked up at him in surprise, and he in turn gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Sorry for being a nuisance."

She smiled. "You're not, Harry. I know you've gone through a lot. I just want to help you."

As they passed Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Harry hesitated. He felt strangely compelled to go into the shop again.

"What is it?"

"Mind if I take a look around again?" Harry asked, gesturing at the window display. "I reckon I ought to buy a cloak, too."

"You didn't buy one earlier?"

Harry shook his head.

"All right then."

"Thanks. I'll be right out. Go check out the other stores while you're waiting. Meet me back here when you're done."

Leaving Ginny on the pavement, Harry turned and entered the store. Inside, a lively tune played from invisible speakers and several clusters of shoppers chatted casually as they waited for store assistants to take their measurements.

Harry got in line, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Less than a minute, his attention was drawn to the sound of McGonagall's voice coming up from behind him.

"…very irresponsible of you!" she was saying, her voice tight with anger. "If I hadn't already gone to the trouble of freeing you from the Ministry so you could finish your education, rest assured that you certainly would _not_ be returning to Hogwarts this year!

Unable to stop himself, Harry turned around. "Hello, Professor McGonagall," he said, not altogether surprised to see that she was accompanied by Malfoy.

"Why, Mr Potter!" McGonagall said, as if the last person she had expected to see there was Harry. "You're here alone?"

"No, I'm here with Ginny Weasley." Harry shot a furtive look at Malfoy, but the other boy was looking determinedly in the opposite direction.

McGonagall's gaze softened. "Where is she right now?"

"She's waiting for me outside. Er, Professor, about…"

"Thank you very much," McGonagall said, picking up on what Harry was trying to say. "It was kind of you to intervene."

"Yeah," Harry said, slightly embarrassed. He looked at Malfoy again. "So… er… is he taking the train with us on Sunday?"

"Yes. I've arranged for Nymphadora Tonks to escort him there and watch over him during the course of the train ride."

Harry perked up at the mention of Tonks, whom he hadn't seen in the week since the end of the war. "How is she?"

"Delighted, of course, that Mr Lupin is alive and in one piece."

Harry cracked a smile. "I'm glad they're both all right." Then he frowned, for his brain had just processed the full extent of McGonagall's earlier words. "Wait… you said she's going to be taking Malfoy all the way to Hogwarts?"

"That's right."

"I can do it," Harry said without thinking. "I'll take him there."

McGonagall looked surprised. "Are you sure, Mr Potter? You needn't feel obligated to; after all, Mr Malfoy is already indebted to you for your interference at the trial."

At this point, Malfoy finally spoke up. "I'm still here," he snarled. He glared at Harry, and Harry couldn't help staring back, equally defiant but still somewhat put off. Those eyes again – fear and loathing frozen into two chips of ice.

"Watch your tone, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall reprimanded, oblivious to the death glares her two students were sending each other. "You've already caused enough trouble today by running away."

"You ran off?" said Harry, addressing Malfoy. "Where'd you go?"

"To the Apothecary, of all places," McGonagall responded. "He'd already purchased half the store by the time I found him!" She clucked her tongue. "Well, I have a few questions for Meredith, so if you two would wait here…"

"Potions, huh?" Harry said quietly once McGonagall was gone. "Still trying to smarm up to Slughorn?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Unlike you, I don't need to smarm up to anyone to get what I want, Potter." He spat Harry's name out as if it were something supremely filthy and repulsive.

"Looks like a bit of brownnosing would've done you some good at the trial this morning," Harry retorted.

"Fuck you. I'd rather die than beg."

Harry stepped back, shocked by the underlying honesty beneath Malfoy's declaration.

"You don't mean that, right?"

"What's it to you if I do? Either way, you and your bloody valour already took care of it."

Harry exhaled. He didn't know what to make of Malfoy's sudden and unprecedented self-pity, so he turned back around. Thankfully, one of the sales witches was free, so he walked over to her, leaving Malfoy behind.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, the sales witch next to Harry was also free. Thus, when he looked around, he found that he had not successfully escaped Malfoy after all.

As Harry watched the witch helping Malfoy drape a long black robe around him and begin pinning it to the right length, he was reminded of the day seven years ago when he and Malfoy had met each other for the very first time in this very store. Apparently the same thought had jumped into Malfoy's mind, because when he looked over at Harry, his eyes widened slightly.

Harry sighed as the witch helping him asked him what sort of fabric he wanted. What sort of fabric _did_ he want? To be honest, he didn't care.

"Sorry, I don't think I need a cloak after all," he said, hopping off the stool. "Thanks for your time, ma'am."

As Harry weaved around bulky racks of robes and cloaks, he looked around for McGonagall. She was standing at the counter, talking rapidly to Madam Malkin.

"Professor?" he said, walking over to her.

McGonagall turned around. "Yes, Potter?"

"D'you still want me to stick with Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express on Sunday?"

"Certainly, if you have no objections." She paused. "I can't say I'm not surprised to find you have none, considering the… history the two of you share."

Harry shrugged. In truth, he didn't really care either way. He would have liked to spend the time talking with Ron and Hermione, but he also felt a sense of responsibility for Malfoy's actions. After all, Harry had been the one who freed Malfoy, and it was up to him to follow through with what he had done, mistake or not. _Malfoy will be entertaining at least,_ he thought dully.

"Very well. I will inform Nymphadora that she's been discharged of the task. If you would please, Potter, meet Mr Malfoy at the entrance to Platform 9 ¾ at ten thirty on Sunday morning. I'll wait there with him until your arrival."

"Sure. See you, Professor."

Waving good-bye to the headmistress, Harry left her and exited the store.

Ginny was waiting for him outside. She smiled gratefully when he walked up to her. "That was quicker than I expected."

Harry gave her a forced smile. "Yeah, I decided not to get the cloak after all. I can always order one by owl post if I end up needing one at school. C'mon, let's go back."

Harry took Ginny's hand. As they headed for the archway connecting the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, Harry couldn't help casting one last glance over his shoulder at Madam Malkin's.

In a bizarre way, he felt his encounter with Malfoy wouldn't be the last of its kind. Indeed, as the small apparel store disappeared around the bend, he found himself thinking, _I guess this is a new beginning for both of us._


	4. A Conversation

_The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed._  
- Moshe Dayan

**Chapter 3:** A Conversation

Sunday morning dawned cold and clear. When Harry woke up, the first thing he noticed was the sun streaming into his eyes. He blinked several times, yawned, and rolled over.

"Wake up," he whispered into Ginny's ear. "We don't want to miss the Hogwarts Express."

Ginny stirred and murmured something incomprehensible, but she stubbornly slept on. A small smile played on Harry's lips as he gazed at his sleeping partner. As promised, they had carried on like nothing had changed between them, and hadn't done anything the previous night except sleep in the same bed, like they had done every night since the war ended. All the same, it had felt nice to hold her and feel her next to him, to know that she at least was alive and safe and _there_ with him.

Strangely enough, Harry wasn't as put off by the fact that he'd slept with his best friend's sister as he'd have expected. Now that he'd had time to (unwillingly) reflect on it, the idea of sex with Ginny – mistake or not – didn't feel wrong. He supposed it was because trusting Ginny had nearly become second nature to him. Through the jumbled, fragmented memories of the past few days, the one thing that stood out clearest was Ginny: Ginny watching out for him when he was too stubborn to admit he couldn't watch out for himself; Ginny freeing him from the claws of the past and keeping him grounded in the present; Ginny trying her best to help him overcome his sense of disconnection from his surroundings, even though her methods didn't always have the intended effect. Harry could hardly believe this strong, wilful Ginny was the same girl who had once been too afraid to speak in his presence.

The war really had turned Harry's world upside-down.

Taking care not to wake Ginny, Harry shoved on his glasses, climbed out of bed, and stretched his crampled muscles. He had stayed up for the better half of the night, plagued by recollections of the war and by the prospect of returning to Hogwarts and having to put on a pretence of composure everyday.

Harry did, however, feel somewhat better than he had yesterday afternoon. Ron and Hermione had returned the previous evening, and seeing their faces had filled Harry with such immense relief that he'd almost forgotten to be miserable for the night. He had listened with a mixture of rapture and envy as they eagerly explained everything in which they'd assisted the Order, including the capture of two former classmates-turned-Death-Eaters, whom they had revealed to be Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott – and Draco Malfoy. Caught up in his friends' narration, Harry had not bothered dwelling over the thought of the unpleasant conflicts this minor detail foresaw.

The evening had passed fairly quickly, and before Harry knew it, the time for them to retire to bed had arrived. Harry had left out the part about his sharing a room with Ginny as he parted ways with Ron and Hermione. _There'll be time to break the news to Ron later,_ he had reasoned. He hadn't really wanted to ruin the good mood, anyway.

Harry glanced out the window, pleased to see the sun shining brightly outside. He'd hated the foggy, dull mornings that had dominated much of the week; they had felt stifling and oppressive. The weather wasn't the only thing he was happy about.

Despite the positive circumstances of the morning, however, Harry still felt unbearably _empty_. There was a persistent sense of discomfort somewhere in his chest region that could only be attributed to his having lost a part of himself the night the piece of Voldemort's soul he had carried with him all his life had been torn out of him. Harry shuddered. Though the memory of that incident was barely weeks-old, it weighed down on him like a long kept secret, forging an invisible barrier that isolated him from everyone else.

Shivering in the cold air, Harry searched the room for his shirt. He found it lying neatly folded by the dresser and pulled it over his head, all the while mentally running through the day ahead.

He was almost looking forward to seeing Malfoy, as he could think of no better person on which to take out his frustrations than the only one who was powerless to retaliate. Briefly, he wondered what Malfoy thought about Harry's accompanying him to school. He hadn't said very much on Friday when Harry had offered to do it. Harry paused in the middle of tugging on a sock. Why _had_ he offered, anyway?

_For the opportunity to torment Malfoy and make him suffer more than he already has without worrying about getting caught by a professor,_ he drearily answered himself.

Absently running a hand through his tousled hair, Harry plodded over to the ancient mirror and shoved the chair beneath it aside so that he could stare fully into it. There was something disconcertingly alien about his reflection. He recognised the messy black hair, the dark green eyes, the set jaw and tightened lips. Even the scar was there, a cruel reminder of everything he had lived with for the past seventeen years, of which he would never fully rid himself. But something… something had vanished, something that had once made Harry _whole_.

Annoyed, Harry turned away. Ginny had woken up by now and was lying on her side, watching Harry. Realising that he had noticed her, she smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, I just like looking at you," she murmured, her eyelids fluttering as she fought the urge to fall back asleep.

_That's more than I can say for myself,_ Harry thought dryly.

"How much time do we have?" Ginny asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"Dunno. We'd better hurry, though. Ron and Hermione are probably already waiting for us downstairs. I've got to meet Malfoy at the train station, remember?"

Ginny's eyes darkened, and Harry winced, remembering how difficult it had been to convince her that he was only trying to help McGonagall out when he had revealed to her that he would be sitting with Malfoy and not her on the ride to school.

"Right," she said curtly.

They dressed, packed, and left the room in silence, avoiding each other's eyes the entire time. Harry stopped at the front desk to pay Tom for their lodgings, but the old innkeeper refused.

"It's been an honour, Mr Potter, an honour indeed…" he said instead, bowing deeply. "Do come back whenever you're in need of a room…"

"Er... sure. Thanks."

Harry and Ginny walked over to the dining room. Unsurprisingly, Ron and Hermione had already seated themselves at a small table to wait.

"Why're you two coming down together?" Ron asked suspiciously as Harry and Ginny approached them.

"Why're you two sitting together?" Ginny retorted.

Ron flushed. "We were waiting for you. You took a right long time, you know!"

Hermione clucked her tongue and stood up. "Enough bickering. Let's go. It's already a quarter after ten."

"Shit," Harry swore. Hermione shot him a reproachful look. "We have to move fast, or I'm going to be late," he explained.

"Late for what?"

"I… er…" Harry faltered. He hadn't mentioned the Malfoy situation during their conversation the night before. Remembering that Malfoy was one of the Death Eaters Ron and Hermione had helped locate, Harry decided now that it would be best if he didn't let them know about the trial, at least for the time being.

Unfortunately, there was no way he could keep the arrangement he had struck with McGonagall a secret from his two best friends, especially since Ginny already knew. "I, uh, said I'd escort Malfoy to Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy."

An incredulous silence followed his words. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Harry would have laughed at the identical expressions of shock on Ron's and Hermione's faces. As it was, he scuffed his feet and tried to avoid meeting either of their stares.

At last, Ginny sighed. "Come on. I'll explain once we're on the train."

Deciding that it would be best not to point out that even Ginny didn't know the full story, Harry nodded in agreement.

"Harry, are you mad?" Ron choked out as Ginny grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door. "Malfoy? Why? He's a Death Eater! Didn't he get chucked into Azkaban? What's going on?"

It seemed Hermione was taking the news better than her boyfriend. Indeed, she looked more worried than appalled. "You'll explain later, won't you, Harry? Right now we should get going if you've got to meet Malfoy."

Harry couldn't help admiring Hermione's collectedness in the face of his confession. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to have lost the ability to utter comprehensible sentences, and was allowing himself to be dragged along by Ginny without a word of protest.

"D'you know how to get to King's Cross from here, Hermione?" Harry asked, shooting an anxious glance in her direction. _She's right, I'll have plenty of time to explain once we're alone,_ he reassured himself.

"Yes… it should only be about a mile north of us… If we hurry, we'll get there on time for – when was it you were supposed to meet him?"

"Ten thirty," said Harry, relieved that Hermione wasn't asking any further questions. "I'm meeting McGonagall there, too."

"She's with Malfoy?"

Harry just barely managed to swerve around an old man walking his dog as they dashed down the street. "Yeah," he panted, "she's the one who wanted to bring him back to Hogwarts."

Hermione nodded and said no more.

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at King's Cross, breathless and sweaty from their workout.

"Where are they?" Harry muttered, pushing his hair out of his eyes and looking around frantically. He was ten minutes late; McGonagall was going to kill him.

"Didn't you say you were going to meet them at the barrier?" Ginny pointed out.

"Yeah, I did," said Harry, somewhat flustered. What was he so nervous for? "C'mon…"

Sure enough, when the four of them hurried up to the barrier between platforms nine and ten, McGonagall and Draco were already there. Harry jogged over to them, embarrassed. "Sorry for the delay, Professor."

Malfoy was scowling at Harry in a way that suggested he had been hoping Harry wouldn't come after all. Harry couldn't help feeling an inner sense of satisfaction knowing he'd disappointed Draco Malfoy.

McGonagall greeted Hermione, Ron, and Ginny before turning to Harry. "Are you certain you're willing to take him into your hands, Potter? If you've changed your mind, Nymphadora can –"

"It's fine. I'll, er, make sure he doesn't do anything."

McGonagall nodded. "Very well. I'll see the five of you at the Sorting Ceremony later this evening."

Harry bid the headmistress farewell while Malfoy looked on, still scowling. Once McGonagall disappeared into the crowd, Harry turned to his friends.

"You can go on ahead," he said, addressing all of them at once. "You don't have to sit with us. Why don't…"

Harry's voice trailed off, however, when he caught Ron's expression. His friend was staring at Malfoy with an uncharacteristically hateful expression.

"Ron?" Harry ventured tentatively.

"I can't figure out what kind of moron would be thick enough to save you, Malfoy," Ron hissed, his blue eyes sparkling with wrath, "but _I_ haven't forgotten what you've done."

The malice in Malfoy's eyes intensified a hundredfold as he met Ron's gaze unswervingly. "How kind of you to keep me in your thoughts, Weasley," he sneered.

Ron's face turned an impressive shade of scarlet.

"Ron…" Harry said more urgently, sensing danger ahead. _It's a good thing Malfoy didn't bring up the part about me being the moron who saved him._

Luckily, Hermione chose that moment to step in.

"Let's go, Ron. Harry will deal with him." She took Ron's arm and firmly turned him away from Malfoy.

"Be careful, Harry," Ginny said as she prepared to follow Ron and Hermione. She gave Malfoy withering glare. "I swear, if you do anything, Malfoy –"

"He won't," Harry cut in firmly. He gave Ginny a little push. "Go. I'll meet up with you lot when we get to Hogwarts."

Ginny sighed. "Okay, I'll see you later, Harry." Without another glance at Malfoy, she grabbed her trolley, pushed it towards the barrier after Ron and Hermione, and disappeared.

"Right –" Harry began to say, turning to Malfoy, but he stopped when he realised that the other boy was bent over and busy searching in his trunk for something.

Irritated, Harry folded his arms and waited. Finally, he heard Malfoy mutter something that sounded like "Thank God" and straighten up.

"Malfoy –" Harry tried again, but this time, Malfoy interrupted him.

"You can sod off now, Potter," he drawled. "I know you don't want to do this anymore than I do."

Harry's anger surfaced. "I'm not going anywhere!"

"As much as I appreciate the concern –"

"I'm not doing this for you," Harry snarled. "I'm doing this for Tonks, because I'm sure she has better things to do than waste her time with filth like you."

"And the Chosen One doesn't?" Malfoy retorted. He narrowed the eyes Harry had already come to unconsciously dread. "You've got some fucking nerve, Potter, taking it upon yourself to follow me around. Considering you've already degraded me with your –"

"_Degraded?_" Harry exclaimed furiously. "Are you trying to say I didn't do you a favour by saving you from the Dementors?"

"Yes, I am," Malfoy said quietly. Again, a flicker of terror surfaced in his eyes. Even though it disappeared almost instantly, Harry caught it and couldn't help recoiling in surprise at the sight of it.

"Forget it," Harry growled, shaking his head to clear his mind. Seizing Malfoy's arm roughly, he dragged him over to the barrier and pointed at it with his free hand. "Go."

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy obeyed without any further objections. He vanished into the barrier, and Harry quickly followed, not wanting to lose sight of his charge.

To Harry's relief, Malfoy was waiting on the other side. Harry briefly considered questioning the sudden compliance, but decided the answer wasn't worth the effort of trying to get a civil response out of Malfoy. He led Draco over to the nearest train door, pretending to ignore the students gawking at him. No matter how hard he tried to block out their stares and whispers, however, his ears still picked up fragments of hushed conversations as he waited for Draco to heave his things onto the train.

"No way, I heard he wasn't coming!"

"Yeah, well, Mum told me McGonagall was pretty decided about him finishing school."

"But doesn't he have other things to do? I mean, he's the bloody _Chosen One_…"

"Never mind _that_, look who he's got with him!"

"Who is it?"

"_Draco Malfoy!_"

"You mean… but wasn't Potter the one…?"

"Yeah!"

Harry gritted his teeth. It took every ounce of will he had to not turn around and curse the two boys – first years, no doubt – into oblivion.

"You'd better be grateful, Malfoy," he muttered under his breath as he stepped onto the train after Malfoy and slammed the door behind him.

It was still early, so the train was still relatively empty. _Thank God,_ Harry thought with immense relief, as he searched for an unoccupied carriage. _The sooner we're out of public view, the better._

It didn't take long for Harry to find an empty compartment. He opened the door for Malfoy to walk through first.

"I don't want your courtesy," said Malfoy, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Rolling his eyes, Harry went in. As he struggled to swing his trunk onto the luggage rack, he marvelled over the fact that he had willingly accepted the torture of riding all the way to Hogwarts with only Malfoy for company. He was more than a little disturbed by the fact that he _wasn't_ as disturbed by the prospect of sharing a compartment with Malfoy. After all, he and his friends had always made an effort to stay as far away as possible from Malfoy's end of the train.

But things were different now. Several of his usual train companions – including Neville and Seamus – would not be joining him for this train ride, or any of the train rides after it. The sharp twinge of pain this realisation caused made Harry's sweaty grip on his trunk slip. He braced himself for the inevitable fall, but rather than the pain of the heavy trunk colliding with his head, he felt two arms reach around him, catch the trunk, and secure it on the luggage rack for him.

"For God's sake, Potter, you're not supposed to be the suicidal one here."

Surprised, Harry turned around and blinked. Malfoy was standing right behind him and frowning down at him in an irritated sort of way. The moment their eyes met, however, Malfoy leapt back as if he had been shocked.

Harry cocked his head. Slowly, it dawned upon him that Malfoy had helped him. "Er… thanks?"

"I only did it because you looked so bloody pathetic trying to shove your things up there," Malfoy snapped, turning pink.

Harry frowned, and any feelings resembling gratitude he might have been harbouring immediately vanished. "You're one to talk about being pathetic."

"Yeah, I know, my father was barking mad and I'm set to become just like him," Malfoy sneered, his sunken features contorting unattractively. He sat down on the seat across from Harry. "Your insults don't make so great of an impact the thousandth time around."

"Whatever," Harry muttered, collapsing on his seat and leaning against the cool glass of the window. Suddenly, he no longer had the energy to argue with Malfoy. He was just so… _tired_.

Apparently Malfoy didn't care that Harry was not in the mood to fight, because the moment Harry fell silent, he continued with his tirade.

"You think you're so special," he spat out bitterly. "You think having that stupid scar on your forehead and being the one who defeated the Dark Lord means you can go around cocking up other people's lives. Maybe you do it because you're insecure and hope that by forcing the whole world to believe you're their sodding saviour, you'll convince yourself too; I don't know; but either way, you chose the wrong life to fuck with this time, Potter."

Harry stared at Malfoy evenly, unperturbed. So much had happened since he and Malfoy had last talked like this that Malfoy's petty insults no longer affected him. "Well, aren't you perceptive?" he said lightly after a brief pause.

For a moment, Malfoy gawked at Harry. He seemed almost disappointed that Harry hadn't taken the bait. After a few more seconds of silence, he slumped back against the wall, gave an almost inaudible sigh, and fell to staring out the window.

Admittedly, Harry was rather surprised that Malfoy had given up so easily and even more astonished with himself for not losing his temper in the face of Malfoy's biting remarks. Perhaps, he realised, it was because he felt better when someone was telling him he _wasn't_ all he was cut out to be. Harry secretly longed to hear that he was imperfect, to hear his deeds being criticised, to hear the _truth_.

Harry cracked an ironic smile. _Imagine that… for once, Malfoy's the one being honest._

--

Draco was rather disconcerted by Potter's smile. Even though he knew it wasn't directed at _him_, Potter's ability to smile at _all_ in his presence was both unsettling and irritating at the same time.

_Then again, it's not like he doesn't have reason to smile, what with everyone kissing the bloody ground he walks on,_ he thought sourly.

Even so, Draco couldn't help noticing the manner of Potter's smile. It wasn't quite like the smiles he'd seen on the faces of the witches and wizards who had survived the war. Theirs were bright, hopeful, genuine. Potter's smile was… well, it wasn't a _real_ smile. It was a forced tugging up of the corners of his lips, a fake, shallow cover-up designed to fool those who didn't know any better. (Draco, of course, did.) Potter's smile didn't reach his eyes like the smiles on the faces of passersby did. Instead, his eyes remained distant and void of the distinctive sparkle that Draco had grown to associate with a real smile.

Draco shook his head firmly, clearing these musings from his mind. Now was not the time to be studying Potter's smile. There were more important things to be dwelling on.

Such as the fact that he had nine months left to live.

His insides squirmed uneasily at the thought. Nine months. That wasn't nearly enough time to do everything he wanted to do. He ground his teeth together, loathing Potter once more for prying into his business. If only he had been allowed to die quickly… to not have to suffer the agony of _waiting_… but no, that wasn't good enough for Potter…

"Hey, Malfoy?"

"What?" Draco snapped, wondering why he was even answering. He hated Potter, after all.

"Why did you buy all that stuff from the Apothecary on Friday?"

"It's none of your damned business."

Potter glared at Draco. "It is if you're thinking of secretly brewing some explosive potion and using it to take all of Hogwarts down to hell with you."

"Then in that case, it's still none of your damned business."

Potter looked confused. Draco almost laughed out loud. _I can't believe there's actually a fountain erected in honour of this dolt,_ he thought incredulously.

"In any case," Potter continued coldly, "I'll be watching you, Malfoy."

"I'm touched."

"I'm serious," Potter insisted. He hesitated before adding, "Only because I have nothing else to do."

Draco shook his head. "Potter, your obsession with me is somewhat worrisome. Unfortunately, I don't have much time to play around with you this year, so I'd appreciate it if you would leave me alone."

Not until Draco saw the flash of consternation flit across Potter's face did he realise the full weight of his words. Though he was angry with himself for not thinking before speaking, he quickly seized the chance to make Potter feel worse. "Oh yes, I literally don't have time."

"Well don't come crawling to me for comfort," Potter snapped, his eyes darkening with anger behind his glasses (the same round-rimmed ones he had worn since first year, Draco noted). "If you want me to get down on my knees and beg you to forgive me for saving your life, I won't."

Draco's lips tightened. "I don't want your pity."

"Good, because I wasn't planning on giving it to you," Potter replied. Draco was pleased to note that he looked distressed as he said these words.

Sitting back, Draco turned to stare out the window at the passing countryside. He wondered if it would be like this for the rest of the year. Would he spend the last nine months of his life bickering over pointless things with Potter? After all, if Potter really did intend to trail him around the school…

Draco stifled a groan of despair at the thought of being followed by Potter anywhere and checked his watch. An hour had passed since the train had left the station. His heart sank. Six more hours of this?

"Why did you do it?" Draco blurted out. "Why did you step in and save me if you're just going to stalk me for the rest of the year?"

For the first time since that morning, Potter's guard seemed to slip a little. He sounded genuinely uncertain when he replied, "I don't know. I guess… well, the night in the clearing… when Bellatrix…"

Draco's stomach flip-flopped. So Potter still remembered it. "Oh."

"Yeah. I suppose I wanted to pay you back… or something. I really don't know."

Draco sighed. "You never fucking know," he muttered, leaning back against the wall of the compartment.

"That's not –"

"Shut up, Potter, and hear me out. You never have a clear reason for doing anything. Why did you decide to attend Hogwarts when you knew nothing about the school? Why did you agree to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team when you'd never seen a broomstick before in your life? Why did you decide it was up to you to get rid of the Dark Lord just because you were the one he tried to kill sixteen years ago?"

Potter seemed initially taken back by Draco's rant, but then he adopted a thoughtful expression. "Not killing Voldemort was never an option for me."

"_Why?_ Wait, don't tell me – you wanted to be the hero of the wizarding world before someone else stole the title."

Indignation flashed in Potter's eyes. _Well, that's good,_ Draco thought idly. _At least he's showing some signs of life now._

"I had reasons, Malfoy, but you wouldn't understand, even if I tried to explain. Try to wrap your mind around this one: I wanted to do it. For myself, not for anyone else. I _had_ to do it."

"I'm sure you've never _had_ to do anything in your life." Stupid Potter, thinking he had it hard. Draco had no doubt Potter had never been forced into doing anything. He had always been allowed to make his own choices and pursue his own path. That was one of the reasons why Draco hated him so much.

Potter snorted. "Looks like you don't understand much either, Malfoy."

At that moment, the sliding door opened and the trolley witch poked her familiar round face into their compartment. Draco couldn't help feeling somewhat surprised that she was still _around_; he had assumed that after the war, nothing would be the same anymore. But apparently this insignificant fraction of life was.

As Draco watched Potter get up and approach her, he realised how heightened his awareness of minute details had become. Everything – the way Potter shook his hair out of his eyes as he stood up; the way Potter walked with his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders slightly slumped forward; the way Potter scratched the back of his head as he debated what to purchase; even the items Potter bought off the cart (one cauldron cake, four chocolate frogs, and a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans) – was perceived and memorised. It was as if Draco had lost the innate ability to filter out the unnecessary aspects of his surroundings.

Perhaps, Draco reasoned, this was due to his impending death. After all, when you know you've only got nine months left to see the world, even your worst enemy's sweet preferences start to matter.

--

True to his word, Potter refused to let Draco leave his sight for the rest of the train ride. At first, Draco had found this extremely aggravating, but eventually he grew tired of swearing at Potter and gave up. After all, he'd have all the time he wanted to be alone once they got to Hogwarts. Not that he _wanted_ to arrive there any time soon. Or that he had _all_ the time.

The most annoying part of the journey wasn't Potter's mere presence, however. It was Potter's persistence in trying to find out what Draco had purchased at the Apothecary. No matter how many times Potter tried, however, Draco refused to reveal anything.

"Why don't you tell me why I'm here, first?" Draco fired back after being interrogated by Potter for the eleventh time. "Ever thought of trying that? Maybe if you considered letting me in on something, I'd tell you what I'm supposedly hiding."

Potter glared at him. "Isn't it obvious? You're here because McGonagall wants you to go to Hogwarts and finish your seventh year before you get what you deserve."

"Oh, very nice, Potter. What an astute observation. Thank you for informing me."

"Well, what else do you want me to tell you?" Potter yelled back. He seemed to be at his wit's end. "I've already told you a million times, Malfoy; I wasn't thinking straight! Now can you shut up about the bloody trial?"

Draco smirked. He had forgotten how enjoyable the simple things in life – such as driving Potter up the wall – could be. Deciding that Potter was due for a dose of misery anyway, Draco continued.

"There's no need to lose your temper, Potter. You'll need to practise holding it in better if you ever decide you want to save another Death Eater from being tossed into Azkaban."

Fury settled into the lines of Potter's face. "At the risk of inflating your ego some more, you're a special case. I try not to make a habit of letting loose more scum into the world than needed."

The insult Draco had lined up in his mind crumbled away at Potter's words. "What do you mean, 'a special case'?"

Potter stared morosely at the half-eaten chocolate frog in his hand. "I already told you, I don't know why I decided you deserved another chance. But I do know that I went to see your trial that morning because I remembered that night and how you – well, helped me. And because you're someone I know."

"No, I'm not," Draco replied automatically. "I'm not someone you know."

Potter looked startled for a second, but then an expression of forced indifference slid over his features. "Right. Of course not."

Against his will, Draco was intrigued and somewhat disturbed by the change that had come over Potter. He had always foolishly worn his heart on his sleeve, making it an easy target for Draco's scathing words. This apathetic, bitter Potter was an unexpected change. Frankly, Draco didn't know what to make of him.

Then again, he reminded himself, Potter's qualms were for Potter to deal with. Draco had his own troubles to attend to. No matter how hard he tried to forget his impending doom, it continued to lurk in a corner of his mind, occasionally crawling out with bared fangs in moments like these when Potter wasn't distracting him. Thus, as much as Draco hated to admit it, he was almost grateful for Potter's presence.

"What was it like?"

"What was what like?" Draco replied instantly, caught-off guard by Potter's sudden question.

"The war. What was it like?"

Draco's insides froze a little; he hated the topic of the war. "None of your business."

"Tell me," said Potter flatly.

"I'm not your slave, Potter," Draco snapped. Who did Potter think he was, ordering Draco around?

To Draco's surprise, Potter did not lose his temper again. Instead, he smiled. _Again._

"Thanks, Malfoy," he said, in an unnervingly cheerful tone.

Draco nearly fell out of his seat. "I don't want your thanks," he said huffily. "I didn't do anything for you."

Potter's smile widened. "Exactly."

"Oh, try not to be too obvious, will you?" Draco replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes and standing up. Potter was confusing the hell out of him, and Draco _hated_ being confused. "Anyway, it's time we changed into our school robes," he said, eying Potter's cryptic smile with some apprehension.

They shrugged on their robes in silence. Once they were finished, they sat back down to await the train's arrival at the station.

"I'll have you know right now, Potter," Draco said coolly as the scenery flashing by the small window of the compartment began to slow down, "I refuse to allow you to shadow me around the castle for the rest of the year. From hereon out, I want nothing to do with you, and I have no doubt you feel the same way – so do yourself a favour and go attend your autograph sessions instead of wasting your time with me."

Potter's eyes hardened noticeably. "If it isn't my place to be giving orders, it's hardly yours, Malfoy."

Draco bit back the retort hovering on the tip of his tongue. After all, even he was capable of acknowledging the truth from time to time.


	5. A Suspicion

_The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers._  
- M. Scott Peck

**Chapter 4:** A Suspicion

The Sorting Ceremony and start-of-year feast flew by in a blur. Harry couldn't help marvelling over how everything seemed so normal, yet so different at the same time. All of the school's distinguishing features remained unchanged, from the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall to the Giant Squid's waving tentacles protruding from the murky depths of the lake. Inside, the first years looked just as terrified as Harry had felt seven years ago, the food was as plentiful as ever, and the start-of-year notices still listed the Forbidden Forest and Fanged Frisbees (among four hundred and ninety-two other magical items) as strictly prohibited.

What bothered Harry was the lack of reference to the war that had raged just two weeks earlier. Not a word was said of the students and faculty that had died, save for a brief mention of McGonagall's new role as headmistress. Even then, Dumbledore's name was not brought up.

Harry spent a large portion of the evening glowering at McGonagall from where he sat at the Gryffindor table. He knew she meant to refrain from causing the younger students any unnecessary trauma, but it infuriated him that she was acting like the war had never happened at all, like the school year's month-late start did not signify anything.

His heart ached with loneliness whenever he allowed his gaze to wander. There were empty spots everywhere, yet it seemed incomprehensible to him that the previous occupants of those seats were really gone for good. Sometimes he would even turn around, expecting to see Seamus wordlessly trying to transform water into rum a few seats down from him, only to be disappointed when he was greeted with the sight of Nearly-Headless Nick floating there instead. After all, ghosts didn't die. They were the ones who remained, completely unaffected by the horrors of war.

Ron and Hermione tried many times to distract Harry from war-related thoughts. Harry had the feeling that Hermione had spent much of the train ride convincing Ron to forgive Harry for associating with Malfoy, because throughout supper, Ron's behaviour could only be described as forcibly casual. This didn't ease Harry's agitation very much, and finally he had to turn to them and calmly say that he was fine, that he wished to be left alone, and that they would talk later in the common room.

Once, during the feast, Harry happened to glance towards the Slytherins. They were far fewer in number this year (_probably because the lot of them are festering away in Azkaban,_ Harry noted with grim pleasure), but even so, it appeared that none of their collective arrogance had been lost. They still sat haughtily in their seats, identical expressions of malice on their pale faces. Harry supposed it was a Slytherin thing.

Unwittingly, his eyes sought out Malfoy. The other boy was sitting near the end of the long table, as straight and dignified as ever. Still, there was a slight, almost imperceptible slump to his shoulders, and it was this – and the fact that he looked so pitiable without Crabbe and Goyle flanking him – that almost made Harry feel sorry for Malfoy.

This unusual sympathy, however, only lasted for a split second. The sound of people getting out of their seats and preparing to leave snapped Harry out of his thoughts. The feast was over.

Harry made to stand up as well, but before he could, a swarm of first and second years surrounded him, demanding autographs and pictures. Harry, meanwhile, could only blink up at them, not entirely sure what was going on.

Luckily, Ginny came to his rescue. "Leave him alone!" she snapped, pushing her way through the crowd and grabbing Harry's wrist. She tugged him out of his seat. "Come on, let's go before more of them come."

Harry and Ginny squeezed their way through the horde of students and dashed out of the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione were waiting for them outside the heavy oak doors.

"We thought Ginny would handle the little twerps the best," said Ron with a sheepish grin.

"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded. "It's not their fault. They've only heard embellished stories about Harry up until now; it's no wonder they're so excited to finally see him in person."

"Yeah, well, there's still something called 'the right to privacy'." He nudged Harry in the side. "Right, Harry?"

Harry blinked. He hadn't been paying attention to Ron and Hermione's conversation, but upon being brought into it, he said quickly, "Yeah, sure."

Hermione and Ginny exchanged worried looks. Without a word, Ginny grabbed Harry's arm tightly and began pulling him along after her.

"Where are we going?" Harry gasped, scrambling after Ginny, his eyes watering from pain as her nails dug into his arm.

"The common room, Harry, where else? Honestly, you'd think years had passed since you were last here."

"It feels like it's been forever," Harry grumbled as they climbed the stairs. "What about Ron and Hermione?"

"They'll follow us up. They're prefects, remember? They've got to stay downstairs and round up the younger students. Oh, and you can tell me what happened with Malfoy once we're inside," she added, giving Harry an extra hard tug.

Harry suddenly felt annoyed. Why did he have to tell Ginny what happened with Malfoy? It wasn't as if it was her job to know everything that went on in his life.

Immediately after this thought crossed his mind, Harry was overcome by guilt. He was being ungrateful, of course. If he couldn't talk to Ginny, Hermione, and Ron, who else did he have?

_Malfoy,_ a small voice in the back of his mind offered. _Malfoy's just as alone as you are. Besides, he owes you – and he knows it._

Harry rolled his eyes. There was only one thing worse than talking to Malfoy about his problems, and that was knowing Malfoy would only listen because he was obligated to. Harry was desperate, and that made him very nervous.

"Ginny," he said, panting as they hurried along an empty corridor, "are you sure the common room is this way?"

"Of course I'm sure," Ginny replied, rolling her eyes at Harry over her shoulder. "I'm beginning to think you're someone else in Harry's body."

"That might be it," Harry muttered under his breath. Ginny, to his relief, did not hear him.

When they finally arrived at the Gryffindor common room, they were both out of breath. Harry collapsed against the wall across from the portrait of the Fat Lady, gasping.

Ginny smiled weakly as she tried to catch her breath as well. "Sorry… I just wanted to make sure you weren't interrupted by members of your fan club again…"

"Well, we're both going to have to get used to it… unless you want to follow me around to all of my classes, that is…"

Ginny wiped her brow and closed her eyes briefly. "I guess you're right."

"Anyway, let's go in," Harry said. The less time they spent idling around in the hall the better. All he wanted at the moment was to be alone, but he had a feeling that particular wish wouldn't be granted any time soon.

As Ginny tried to recall the password Hermione had told her, Harry wondered what Malfoy was doing. _I hope someone's keeping guard in case he tries to escape,_ he thought with sudden panic. He still didn't believe Malfoy wasn't up to something, what with all the potion ingredients he had supposedly bought at Diagon Alley. And what was it he had been checking to make sure he had brought that morning at the train station? It was all very suspicious.

"Harry?"

Harry blinked. Ginny had apparently remembered the password, because she was now kneeling in the portrait hole, looking expectantly at him.

As it turned out, the common room wasn't the best place to find the peace and quiet Harry had been seeking. The moment Harry stepped inside, it erupted in quite the opposite.

"Merlin's beard, it's Harry!"

"Harry Potter!"

"Is it really Harry Potter?"

"Tell us the whole story, Harry!"

Harry, Harry, Harry. That was how it went. Resignedly plastering a meek smile onto his face, Harry began taking their quills and scraps of parchment.

--

As the time to retire to bed approached, the Gryffindors began slowly trickling out of the common room and up to their dormitories. By midnight, just three students remained, their hunched figures silhouetted by the dying fire.

"Ginny, are you sure?"

"I'm telling you, Hermione, it's the truth. Here – have a look at this article."

There was a soft rustling sound as Ginny extracted a newspaper clipping from her pocket and held it out. Hermione took it, skimmed it briefly, and handed it back.

"It says it was written by Rita Skeeter," she said dubiously.

"That _cow_?" the third member of their party interjected indignantly.

"Shut it, Ron. I know she's not the most reliable source, but –"

"Bollocks! I refuse to believe it. Don't tell me you do, Hermione."

"Well… it does sound like something Harry would do."

This clearly was not the answer Ron had been looking for. "You mean after everything she said about Harry, you still believe this… this rubbish?"

"Ron, can you stop being a stubborn prat for just one minute?" Ginny snapped at her older brother. "Don't you think it's a little suspicious that Harry's been lurking about Malfoy, that he _offered_ to ride the train with him?"

"He was doing McGonagall a favour! I don't care what you two say… I'm not going to believe Skeeter's crap until Harry confirms it himself."

This declaration was followed by the sound of a pair of feet stomping across the common room and over to the stairs. As the echo of Ron's footsteps ascending the stone steps faded into silence, Hermione sighed.

"Do you mind if I ask Harry about this tomorrow morning? I'm sure he has reasons for not telling you –"

"Oh, yeah, no doubt."

"– but if I can get him to explain the whole story to me, I think it'd be safe for you to reveal that you know."

"He must think he's protecting me, the righteous idiot," Ginny snorted. "I suppose you're right, though. Thanks, Hermione."

"No, thanks for letting me know. I'm just afraid Ron won't accept it so easily…"

Ginny laughed. "Harry will deal with him." She stood up, wearily rubbing her eyes as she did so. "Night, Hermione."

"Good night, Ginny."

--

Harry crept down the pitch-dark halls of Hogwarts, using the light emanating from his wand as a guide and his Invisibility Cloak as a cover. Even though he had traipsed down the path from the Gryffindor common room to the library many times in the past, he still felt a thrill of trepidation crawl up his spine as he hurried down a narrow corridor lined with suits of armour. Being alone in the castle at night was never a good idea, no matter how well one knew the passageways. What if he got lost? Would anyone come looking for him?

_Of course they would,_ he reassured himself. _They'd probably bring the entire Hit Wizard squad here to help them search, too._

As Harry turned into a wide passageway, he inwardly cursed himself for not bringing the Marauder's Map. Then again, it wasn't as though he'd had time to look for it – Ron had nearly caught him as he was sneaking out of the dormitory under his cloak.

Harry hesitated when he arrived at the library a few minutes later. He had no idea why he was here, really. All he wanted was a place to be alone and think, and the library was the first place that had jumped into his mind. He eyed the closed door, but to his relief, when he tried the door handle, it turned easily.

Harry stepped inside and shut the heavy door behind him. He looked around. The inside of the library was dimly lit by the pale moonlight filtering in through several large skylights. Hoping Madam Pince had retired to her bedchamber, Harry removed his cloak and extinguished his wand.

Harry moved stealthily towards the rows of bookshelves, wand tucked into his pocket and Invisibility Cloak clutched in his hands. He didn't know where he was going, but he let his feet carry him to the back of the library where rows of pouffes separated the Main Section from the Restricted Section. He sat down on one of these pouffes and looked around. The shadows cast by the bookshelves seemed to stretch on forever, casting much of Harry's surroundings in darkness. He swallowed and averted his eyes. Suddenly, he felt confined. At the moment, he needed to go somewhere open – outside, maybe; the lake, or perhaps even the Forbidden Forest…

The latter option sounded strangely inviting. Harry stood, grabbed his cloak and began to walk back towards the main doors. As he passed through the Charms Section, he heard a rustling noise and froze. It had come from the quiet study area of the library. Harry stood still for several minutes, trying to breathe as softly as possible. Who could possibly be in the library in the middle of the night?

A wild thought flashed through his head. What if it was the ghost of a student – Ernie Macmillan, perhaps? Could Ernie have chosen to leave an imprint of himself behind in the castle because he hadn't got the chance to memorise all of _Hogwarts: A History_ before he died?

"Ernie?" he whispered, his voice shaking as he moved towards where he suspected the sound had come from.

There was silence. Then, incredulously, a cold voice asked, "Did you just mistake me for a Hufflepuff?"

Harry's mouth fell open as he stepped out from behind the bookshelves and into the quiet study area. Draco Malfoy was sitting at a low table in a pool of moonlight, glaring at Harry in a highly affronted manner.

"Malfoy?"

"Keep your voice down," Malfoy said, looking around furtively. He put down the book he had been holding. "Why the hell are you here, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, still trying to recover from the shock of coming across Malfoy at midnight – in the _library_, of all places. "I could ask you the same question."

"Don't sit down here!" Malfoy said as Harry approached him.

But Harry had already seated himself across from Malfoy. "Weren't you forbidden to leave your dorm at night?"

Malfoy's pale face and hair seemed to glow in the half-darkness. "It's not any of your concern where I go at night." The panic in his voice had vanished as suddenly it had appeared.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, abandoning his earlier question. He looked around at the balls of scrunched-up parchment and scattered books lying on the table. "We haven't even started classes yet, so you can't be doing homework."

"You're a nosy little shit, Potter," Malfoy said, opening his book again. "Piss off, I'm busy."

Harry bristled. "In case you haven't noticed, Malfoy, I –"

"You've reminded me enough times that you 'saved my life', thanks. But no matter how many times you say it, I don't care."

Harry smiled smugly. He knew Malfoy was intentionally leaving out a little detail. "You're indebted to me now."

Malfoy glanced up at Harry. The moonlight glinted off his narrowed eyes. "I am not," he said coldly.

Mock-thoughtfully, Harry tapped his lower lip. "Are you sure? Because if I recall correctly, you now owe me a little thing called a life debt. The one Pettigrew owed me came in quite handy, you know, when he died so that I could kill Voldemort…"

"Shut – up," Malfoy ground out, tight-lipped with anger. He slammed his book shut. The sound echoed in the still, musty air of the library. "I don't owe you anything, Potter."

Harry grinned. If only Ron were here – he would be positively gleeful to see Malfoy so flustered. But of course, Ron would be angrier that Harry had snuck out in the middle of the night to hang out with Malfoy in the library…

"So, Malfoy, you still haven't told me what you're doing in the library at midnight."

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy answered his question this time. "Working."

"Working on what?"

Malfoy haughtily shook back the few wisps of blond hair that had fallen into his eyes and glared at Harry. "You called me Macmillan earlier," he observed, smoothly evading Harry's question.

Harry blinked. "I –" he said, faltering. He felt a twinge of indignation at the sound of Ernie's name being uttered in such a condescending tone. Even though he hadn't been very good friends with Ernie, he still felt that the former prefect deserved some respect.

"Isn't he dead?" Malfoy pressed on, completely oblivious to (or, more likely, choosing to ignore) Harry's discomfort.

"Yeah, he is," Harry snapped, hating the finality of those words. "I just thought…"

Malfoy watched Harry carefully, his face inexpressive. When he spoke, it was almost as though he pitied Harry. "Macmillan wasn't daft enough to choose to become a ghost."

Harry inhaled sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Being caught in a state between living and dead isn't a pleasant experience, Potter," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "Hufflepuff or not, Macmillan would've known that."

"Oh…"

Malfoy was right, though Harry would never admit it out loud. He remembered what Nearly-Headless Nick had said in his fifth year after Sirius's death: _"I was afraid of death. I chose to remain behind. I sometimes wonder whether I oughtn't have…"_

Ernie wouldn't have done that. On the contrary, Ernie would have eagerly embraced the opportunity to venture into an entirely new world… a new world where he could learn about the previously intangible mysteries of an existence beyond life… yes, Ernie would have liked that.

"Oh," Harry said again, this time very plaintively.

"Get a grip," Malfoy drawled, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "If you came here to mourn over your deceased friends, I'd suggest you do it somewhere else."

Harry said nothing. Several minutes passed in silence. While Malfoy read, Harry stared absently out the window overlooking the Forbidden Forest. Every once in a while a Thestral would soar out of the trees, a black streak against the blacker night, before diving back down into the protection of the forest. Each time this happened, Harry's heart skipped a beat and his breath caught in his throat – not out of fear, but out of wonder, for he had come to see an ethereal beauty in the creatures over time.

"Have you ever seen a Thestral?" Harry finally asked, breaking the quiet. He looked inquisitively over at Malfoy, whose pale features were screwed up in concentration as he read.

"Yes," Malfoy replied without lifting his eyes from his book.

"Where?"

"Father bred them for the Dark Lord's use," Malfoy said, carefully turning a thin page, as if the idea of a herd of winged, skeletal horses living in his backyard was not the least bit unsettling.

Harry grimaced at the thought. "That's not what I meant. Well, I mean, yeah, it's what I meant, but… how did you come to see them?"

Malfoy finally looked up at Harry, disbelief in his eyes. "Are you serious, Potter? I would've thought you of all people would remember what that giant oaf taught us in fifth year."

"It's 'Hagrid'," Harry snapped. The wound in his heart smarted; Hagrid had been another casualty of the war – the giant raids, to be specific. "And I know how people come to see Thestrals; I just wasn't aware that you'd seen someone… someone…"

His voice trailed off as he remembered that Malfoy had witnessed Bellatrix's murder and, obviously, countless others during the war. He berated himself for forgetting something so significant. Then again, it was hard to imagine Malfoy the Brutal Death Eater while sitting in the library with Malfoy the Helpless Teenage Fugitive.

"You're pathetic, you know," Malfoy said conversationally, placing his hands on either side of his open book and staring Harry in the eye. "You're so scared of death that you can't even talk about it. Do your fans know that?"

Harry's blood boiled with fury. Malfoy had misinterpreted his words, as always. "If the alternative to fearing it is being so callous towards it that murdering becomes easy, I'd rather be afraid."

Malfoy laughed. "It's not the only alternative. You could learn to accept it as a stage of life. Honestly, Potter, I never would've taken you to be someone who simplifies the world. Frankly, I expected more out of the Chosen One."

"I don't have any more to give," Harry said in a strangled voice, only vaguely aware that he was losing control over his emotions. "If you expected more, you're better off finding it in someone else."

--

To say the least, Draco was taken aback by Potter's emotional breakdown. He had tried to provoke Potter, yes, but he hadn't expected Potter to crumble _this_ easily. Derisively, he said, "Do you think I care?"

Anguish swirled in Potter's eyes, but he seemed to have regained a hold of himself. "No, Malfoy, I don't, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "I can't say I believe that. It looks to me like you want someone to whom you can run crying and pour out all the details of your oh-so-tragic existence. Which, might I add, is not so very tragic at all, considering you've still got your friends, girlfriend, and freedom – oh, and not to mention the entire fucking world at your feet."

"Well, you're not that someone," Potter growled, "so you can breathe a sigh of relief."

Draco smirked. Watching Potter struggle was very amusing. Nevertheless, he had come to the library with a purpose, so he returned to flipping through his book without further comment.

A short while later, he was interrupted by Potter again.

"What're you planning?"

Draco sighed. "For the last time, I'm not planning anything worthy of the Chosen One's attention. No one is going to be killed, tortured, possessed, or hurt in any way, shape or form."

"But you are planning something," Potter pointed out shrewdly.

Draco ground his teeth together. He'd had enough of Potter's vacillating temper and incessant prying. Standing up, he gathered the books he had spread out around him. With a wave of his wand, he cleared the table top of crumpled, used parchment.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not in the mood for small talk," he said coldly as he turned to leave. "It's been a pleasure, Potter, but it's about time I took my leave."

With that, Draco walked away.

--

Harry was unfazed by Malfoy's abrupt parting. His hands had been itching to grab one of those discarded pieces of parchment ever since he joined Malfoy, but he hadn't wanted to give Malfoy the satisfaction. Instead, he waited until he heard the distant sound of the door opening and closing, then bent and disappeared under the table. He reappeared moments later, triumphantly clutching a wadded up ball of parchment he had seen earlier by the table leg. Smoothing out the creases, he read the neat, cramped handwriting:  
_  
- Read __Hogwarts: A History__  
- Be invisible  
- Witness  
_  
But the rest of the last line had been crossed out so completely that Harry couldn't even begin to guess what it had read. Puzzled, he sat back and stared contemplatively at the words Malfoy had written. What did they mean? Could Malfoy be planning to cause trouble while invisible? But, in that case, what did _Hogwarts: A History_ have to do with anything?

The more Harry pored over the list, the more he realised there really wasn't anything dangerous about it. Even so, Harry was suspicious. He knew all too well that Malfoy was capable of concealing his true intentions from others.

Determining to keep a close eye on Malfoy in the future, Harry pushed his chair back and stood up. Over an hour had passed since he'd found Malfoy; he would have to return to the common room before someone discovered his absence. Using his wand, Harry Vanished the other bits of used parchment Malfoy had failed to dispose of and left the library, deep in thought.


	6. A Word

_Objects we ardently pursue bring little happiness when gained; most of our pleasures come from unexpected sources._  
- Herbert Spencer

**Chapter 5:** A Word

Harry woke up early the next morning, sweaty and panting as if he had spent the entire night running from an invisible monster. Remnants of a nightmare he couldn't quite remember hovered in his consciousness, like wisps of fog just before the morning sun chased them away, but when he blinked, they dissipated. Harry rubbed his scar, something he often unconsciously did after waking up from troubling dreams, and waited for his breathing to return to normal.

Still, his heart pounded ferociously and the emptiness inside him ached more than ever as he grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, put them on, and sat up, frowning. The calendar hanging across the room read "Monday, October 12, 1998" in flashing red and gold letters.

He looked around. Dean slept peacefully, his head resting on one of his outstretched arms, and Ron's curtains were pulled closed. Taking care not to wake his sleeping roommates, Harry slowly got out of bed and gathered his toiletries. As he headed for the door, he made an effort not to glance at the two empty beds, both painful reminders of Neville's and Seamus' absences.

The moment Harry stepped outside, a blast of chilly air hit him. Someone had left the window on the landing open. _Inconsiderate bastard,_ Harry thought grumpily, hugging his bundled clothes to his chest.

The boys' showers were thankfully unoccupied. It was far too early for any of the students to be using them. Relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with his housemates spying on him for the moment, Harry quickly removed his pyjamas, placed his glasses by the sink, and stepped into the nearest shower.

It had been a long time since Harry had showered properly; there hadn't been very many opportunities to thoroughly cleanse oneself during the war. The warm water was calming, but not enough. Harry turned the knob all the way until the water was scalding hot. It rained down upon his back and shoulders like droplets of molten fire. The burning sensation was almost pleasurable, and it chased away the lingering ghosts of Harry's nightmare, which was good enough for him.

After a few minutes, Harry turned off the water. He stood for a while in the stifling steam, revelling in the way his skin tingled from the assault it had just received, before stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel off the rack. Once he was done drying himself, Harry wrapped the towel around his waist, put his glasses on, picked up his pyjamas, and left the bathroom without glancing once into the mirror.

The cold air in the stairwell felt good against his sensitized skin. Harry inhaled deeply, enjoying the way the intake of breath travelled down into his lungs and spread through his body, cooling him down.

Ron and Dean were still sleeping when Harry returned to the dormitory. Quietly, he changed into an old t-shirt and frayed jeans. As he pulled on a sock, however, he faltered. What was he changing for? Breakfast wouldn't start for another hour, and no one else was awake.

Harry slowly finished putting his socks on and stood up. He would take a walk outside. It was a nice day, albeit a little cold, but cold was good. Cold numbed his feelings and memories, allowing him to forget. Cold was the opposite of hot, which melted his bitterness, but it worked just as well.

Harry found his school robes lying in a heap by his trunk and shrugged them on. Done dressing, he left the dormitory again.

His initial impression of the common room was that it was empty, but as he moved closer to the fireplace, he noticed someone curled up on one of the sofas under a blanket of robes. He tried to tiptoe past, but the person stirred. The robes fell away, revealing Hermione's sleepy face.

"Hermione?" Harry stared at her in surprise. "Er… what are you doing here?"

She looked confused for a moment, as if she couldn't quite remember, but then her eyes widened. "I wanted to ask you something, so I woke up early and came down to wait for you. I must have dozed off."

"You didn't have to do that," Harry said, bemused. "Waiting until breakfast wouldn't have killed you, would it?"

"Actually, it's urgent. I wanted to catch you before you left." She shifted uncomfortably. "I found out who did it – who released Malfoy."

Harry froze in his spot. She… but how? _She might mean McGonagall,_ he thought hopefully, but as he took in the uncertain expression on Hermione's face, he knew, with absolute certainty, that she had discovered what he had irrationally hoped to keep a secret from her, Ron, and Ginny.

"I wouldn't say 'released'," he managed feebly as he collapsed on the sofa beside Hermione. "Who… who did it?"

She levelled Harry with a knowing look. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know what to say. He had figured Hermione would find out eventually, had figured she would look up the archived newspapers in the library or something, but that still didn't make the situation any easier to explain. All the excuses he'd devised since leaving the trial (excuses like "I was still under the influence of the Forgetfulness Potion, so I forgot who Malfoy was") weren't really excuses someone as clever as Hermione would believe, anyway.

"Why did you do it, Harry?"

Harry glanced at Hermione, guilt twisting his insides. She didn't look angry or disappointed, just puzzled.

"I just…" He took a deep breath, realising that he hadn't yet told Ron and Hermione about the night he killed Bellatrix. _Maybe it's time to tell her now. I can't keep it to myself forever._ "Malfoy saved me, Hermione. The night after I escaped from headquarters – the night Ron's parents were murdered – I was there, I saw it. I lost control of myself, and I nearly got caught by the Death Eaters who did it. But Malfoy covered for me; he gave me the opportunity to… to kill Bellatrix. He saved my life."

Hermione looked dumbstruck. "But Harry, why would he do that?"

"I don't know, Hermione!" Harry suddenly felt frustrated and tired. He wanted to go back to sleep. "That's why I saved him. I mean, I don't really know why. But one part of it was that I felt like I owed him something."

Hermione gazed at Harry, her bottom lip trembling. "Are you absolutely _sure_ Malfoy saw you that night? You said you weren't in your right mind. Maybe you imagined that you were seen, but –"

"I'm not making this up!" Harry shouted. He closed his eyes and kneaded his temples. In a lower voice, he added, "Do you really think I would imagine something I don't want?"

"No, I don't. I trust your judgment. It's Malfoy's judgment I don't trust. I don't understand why he would do that." Hermione sighed and pulled her knees up to her chest. "Why didn't you tell me and Ron about this earlier?"

"I told you already, I did loads of things during the time we were apart that I'd rather you not know about."

"But why?" Hermione asked softly. "Why can't you tell us? You're letting yourself dwell on the things you did, and it's wearing you down. And don't give me that look, Harry Potter. Even if you were acting a bit over the top, I can still see you're hurt. We've been friends for nearly seven years; don't you think I can tell when something about you has changed?

"I killed a lot of people. Other than Voldemort, that is." Harry paused. "But Voldemort was the worst. It was…" He struggled to get the words out, but they stuck in his throat. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I can't say it yet. Maybe someday."

To Harry's relief, Hermione nodded. "I suppose that's all I can ask for."

"Yeah." Harry hesitated. "How did you find out about the trial, by the way?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to look guilty. "Ginny told me."

"She knows?!" Harry yelped.

Hermione sighed. "Yes, she knows. How could she not? The details of the trial are everywhere. She showed us a _Daily Prophet_ article about it the day after."

"I'm in the news?"

"Of course you are, Harry! Think about it: one week after vanquishing the most powerful Dark wizard in ages, the hero of the wizarding world goes and grants a self-confessed Death Eater a reprieve. What kind of publication would pass up that story?"

"Well, when you put it that way…" Harry said weakly. Until now, he hadn't given any serious thought to the significance of his actions, but upon reflecting on it, he realised that, considering his position, it really wasn't all that surprising that there should be so much attention surrounding his interference in the trial.

They were silent for a while, and then Hermione spoke up again.

"I just didn't think it'd be you. The one who released Malfoy, that is. You hated him so much… and even if he couldn't kill Dumbledore, he killed others during the war. He really was a Death Eater."

"Yeah, I still can't really figure it out either," Harry said, gazing into the fire. "You think it's my saving-people thing coming into play again?"

"It always comes back to that, doesn't it?" Hermione joked. "In any case, Harry, you're a good person. Everyone deserves a second chance, even Malfoy. No; _especially_ Malfoy. Even if my personal biases prevent me from liking what you did for him, I'm still proud of you for doing it."

"I reckon Ron won't feel the same way," Harry muttered. He grabbed a cushion and tossed it into the air, catching it before it hit the carpet. "Say, Hermione…"

"I won't tell him," Hermione said straight away. Harry looked at her, surprised that she had read his mind, and she smiled. "You don't need to explain. I understand your reasons."

"Thanks," Harry said, relieved. He had thought she would immediately tell Ron everything, considering the close relationship they had forged in Harry's absence.

"But as dense as Ron can be," Hermione continued, her tone growing graver, "eventually he's going to realise what's really going on. When he does, Harry, he's going to be hurt that you didn't tell him first. Right now he refuses to believe anything, not even solid proof, until you confirm it yourself. But the longer you delay the moment when you tell him everything, the worse he'll take it when he finally acknowledges the truth."

"Did I really screw up that badly?" Harry asked anxiously. Hermione's grim words of advice were beginning to scare him.

"You didn't screw up. It's just… you know how Ron can get sometimes."

"Do I ever," Harry muttered, remembering the trivial things they had fought over in the past.

Hermione stood up and stretched. "Well, I'm going to go get started on Professor Slughorn's project."

"Hermione, classes haven't even begun yet," Harry said, amused. He didn't even bother asking Hermione how she had found out that Slughorn was going to assign them a project.

"It's always good to get ahead of the game," Hermione replied brightly. As she walked past Harry, she patted his shoulder consolingly. "Don't fret too much over the Malfoy situation. It's what McGonagall wanted; you didn't do anything wrong."

"Right."

Harry watched Hermione disappear up the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory. Then, with a heavy sigh, he stood up and left the common room.

Harry made it down the deserted hallways of the castle and out the double oak front doors without interruption. Once outside, he paused to catch his breath.

A light dusting of frost had settled over the lush grass of the grounds overnight, but even as Harry crunched his way down to the lake, the sun's rays began melting it away. By the time Harry arrived at the shore of the lake, the grass was green again and dotted with tiny droplets of dew.

Harry sat down beneath one of the willows, pulling his legs to his chest and wrapping his arms around them to stay warm. He gazed over the serene surface of the lake, wondering what lay past the trees lining the horizon. It was peculiar, he realised, that he had never really explored the wizarding world beyond the areas he was confined to. He had held the secret to immortality in his hands, killed a murderous serpent, freed his wrongly convicted godfather from prison, resurrected the most feared Dark wizard in centuries, stood in the very presence of time and death, watched the greatest wizard he had ever known die before his eyes, and triumphed over pure evil – and yet he had never swam in the ocean or raced along a creek or climbed a mountain like most other ordinary seventeen-year-olds. Harry's lips curled at the irony of it all.

The time passed quickly, and soon Harry was forced to return to the castle. When he stepped inside, he found the Entrance Hall filled with bustling students making their way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Harry joined the crowd self-consciously. He felt the weight of several pairs of eyes on him, but when he turned around, they all flicked away. Harry narrowed his eyes but decided that it would be better if he simply ignored them.

_Let them ogle,_ he thought sourly. What did it matter, anyway? If they were stupid enough to idolise him, he couldn't do anything about it.

When Harry entered the Great Hall, his eyes immediately fell on Malfoy. He was sitting alone at the end of his table, scowling down at his empty plate. Surprised, Harry stopped in his tracks. He had never seen Malfoy so deliberately isolated at his house table.

"Harry, c'mon, Ginny's waiting for you," someone from behind him urged, rousing Harry from his thoughts. He turned around and saw Dean standing behind him.

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly, giving his head a little shake to clear it of Malfoy-related thoughts.

"Good morning, you two," Ginny said as they approached her.

"Morning, Ginny." Harry sat down across from her, leaned over the table, and kissed her on the cheek, all the while cautiously watching for some indication that she knew everything.

But Ginny didn't give one. "Have either of you seen Luna?"

"I saw her on my way down," Dean offered. "She was leaving her common room."

"Oh…" Ginny absently buttered a piece of toast. "She seems a bit down."

Dean winced. "Yeah, well, she lost her dad during the war, didn't she?"

"Yeah," Ginny said sadly. Harry shot her a sympathetic look. The topic of losing family members was, understandably, a sensitive one for her.

"Anyway," he said, trying to change the subject, "where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Ron's sleeping in, I suppose," Ginny said, shrugging. "I'm not sure where Hermione is, but I expect she's waiting for him. They've grown really close, you know."

"Yeah, I know." In all honesty, it was Harry's fault that he was somewhat excluded from Ron and Hermione's newly strengthened bond. He had pushed them away during the war, knowing that it was for the best and that he needed to undergo the task of finding and killing Voldemort alone. Even though they had insisted that they wanted to help him, Harry had forced himself to turn away, leaving them to fight the enemy on their own.

"You left without me, Harry!" came a sudden accusing voice from behind Harry, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Harry turned around. Ron stood behind him, an expression of indignation on his freckled face. Hermione, on the other hand, looked worried as she took in Harry's wind-tousled hair from where she stood next to Ron.

"Are you okay, Harry?" she asked, sitting down beside Harry. She raised her eyebrows a fraction of a centimetre, a sign that she hadn't forgotten their earlier conversation. "Ron told me you had already left when he got up. You're not having trouble sleeping, are you?"

"No." Harry glanced nervously at Ron, who had huffily seated himself on Harry's other side. "I just woke up early and thought I'd go and catch a breath of fresh air before breakfast."

"But Harry, you never wake up early unless something's wrong," Ron pointed out.

Harry shrugged. "A lot of things are wrong right now," he mumbled, grabbing a scone from the basket in front of him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."

"I could swear you weren't there when I woke up in the middle of the night, either," Ron said absently as he reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice.

"Anyway," Ginny cut in loudly, shooting Harry a penetrating look, "Flitwick is the new Deputy Headmaster, isn't he?"

Harry gave Ginny a grateful smile. He could always count on her to save him from awkward questions.

"Yeah," Dean said, "and Lupin's coming back to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts." He inclined his head towards the staff table, where Remus Lupin was sitting next to McGonagall. "I heard he's our new Head of House, too."

"Ron and I already knew," Hermione said smugly, pointing at her prefect badge. Susan Bones had been made Head Girl over her, but Hermione didn't seem too bothered by it. "Slughorn's the Head of Slytherin House."

Before Dean could respond, they were interrupted by Lupin's arrival. He had descended from the staff table to hand out timetables to the Gryffindor students.

"Long time no see, Professor Lupin," Harry said, a genuine smile lighting his face for the first time in what felt like months. He couldn't be happier to see his newly reinstated Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. "How are you?"

"Good morning, Harry," Lupin said, smiling kindly at Harry. The worry lines in his face had, unsurprisingly, deepened since the last time Harry had seen him. "I'm good, thank you very much. Hello, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, Mr Thomas."

"Hi, Professor Lupin," they chorused, smiling at him. They were all glad to have Lupin, a favourite among the students, back, and even more ecstatic about his being their new Head of House.

"I'm afraid I don't have much time to talk," Lupin said, gesturing at the stack of blank timetables he held. "Why don't we start with you, Mr Thomas?"

The process of deciding classes was completed quickly. Harry would drop Herbology, as it wasn't one of the required N.E.W.T.s for Auror training candidates, but continue on with Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions, and Charms. This allowed him another free period immediately after breakfast. Unfortunately, Ron's failing grades in Transfiguration and Potions the previous year prevented him from further studying the subjects, so he and Harry did not end up having very many classes together. Hermione, on the other hand, was taking all of Harry's classes, as well as a handful of others.

"Ancient Runes again?" Ron said, leaning over Harry and examining Hermione's timetable with a disgusted expression. "Honestly, Hermione, what good is that subject anyway?"

Hermione sniffed disapprovingly. "At least I have more classes than free periods," she shot back, referring to Ron's very open timetable.

Breakfast flew by, and soon Harry was waving good-bye to Hermione and Ron as they left for Herbology and Ginny as she and a classmate made their way to Potions. Harry watched them leave, feeling vaguely disconcerted by the normalcy with which the day was proceeding so far.

He had spoken too soon, for at that moment, a cold voice said derisively, "Don't cry now, Potter."

Harry spun around. Malfoy was leaning against the wall behind him, his arms crossed and his chin tilted up arrogantly.

"I see you're yourself again," Harry said dryly. He was oddly relieved to see that Malfoy was no longer the brooding, secluded young man he had been earlier that morning. _Well, maybe not the secluded part,_ he corrected himself, noting that Malfoy's usual followers were absent.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Never mind," Harry said quickly. He didn't want Malfoy to know that he had been watching him. "What're you doing over here on the Gryffindor side of town, anyway?"

"I've come to see you, of course," Malfoy replied with a smirk.

Against his better will, Harry blushed. "Why? Don't you have a class to attend?"

Malfoy shook his head. "I don't take Herbology," he said disdainfully. "It's a useless subject."

"Yeah, or it's the only class you don't do well in," said Harry, slinging his bag over his shoulder and joining the last few students trickling out of the Great Hall.

Malfoy followed him out. "I do well in all of my classes, Potter. Herbology is not, however, an area of study crucial to life; therefore, I feel no need to continue with it if I want to enjoy my last year in this world."

"Stop following me, Malfoy," Harry said by way of response as he walked down the entrance hall to the front doors.

"Not until I make clear what I have to say."

Harry stopped, turned around, and crossed his arms. "Fine. Go."

"I'm not saying anything with all these people around," Malfoy said, pushing past Harry. "We can discuss our situation outside."

"What situation?" Harry grumbled. Nevertheless, he consented to trail after Malfoy out onto the grounds.

It was considerably warmer now than it had been earlier that morning. Harry breathed in deeply, enjoying the way the pleasantly cool breeze ruffled his hair and teased his skin.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked as Malfoy led him across the magically tamed grass.

"Here." Malfoy stopped under a tall evergreen. Leaning against the trunk, he studied Harry with narrowed eyes. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably as he waited for Malfoy to say something.

When Malfoy failed to speak up, Harry said irritably, "Why did you lead me out here, Malfoy? I thought you didn't want to see me anymore."

"And I thought you weren't going to let me out of your sight."

Harry watched with fascination as Malfoy smoothed his windswept locks back, his long, pale fingers running through even paler strands of hair. He noted with some degree of interest the strong contrast between his own unruly locks and Malfoy's fine strands of silk.

"Potter, are you listening to me?"

Harry blinked and quickly averted his gaze from Malfoy's hair. "Yes," he lied. "You said I wasn't going to let you out of my sight."

Malfoy looked exasperated. "No, _you_ said that. For God's sake, Potter, pay attention!"

"I'm paying attention now," Harry snapped. "Go ahead and say what you want to say."

"Good. Now listen up. From now on, I want nothing to do with you." Malfoy said the last sentence slowly and deliberately. "I don't want you to talk to me, I don't want to see you outside of class, and I certainly don't want any more midnight meetings in the library. Have I made myself clear?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Crystal, save for one part: why should I give a buggering fuck what you want?"

Malfoy was evidently struggling to stay calm now. "Because your conscience should be telling you to leave me alone."

"Why would it be saying that?" Harry asked blankly. "I haven't done any wrong to you, Malfoy, so I don't owe you anything. On the contrary, _you're_ the one who owes _me_."

"Well, this conversation sounds awfully familiar." Malfoy's exhale of breath made a whistling sound as it passed through his clenched teeth. "Fine. Have it your way. Go ahead and stalk me; see what your dear Weasel thinks of that. I reckon he won't be too pleased to find that you're avoiding him to spend time with a Death Eater. A Death Eater he _caught_, too. Still haven't told him you were the one who freed me, have you, Potter?" he added with a sly smile.

Harry froze. "How did you know?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

"How could I not know?" Malfoy sneered. "You're about as good at hiding things from others as you are at acting rationally. Besides, Weasley's naïve ramblings about the 'moron thick enough' to save me gave it all away… I'm not stupid, you know…"

"He won't believe you."

"Your confidence in him is touching, Potter, but rather foolish, if I do say so myself."

Loathing welled up in Harry's chest. Malfoy was _blackmailing_ him. Rooted to his spot by his fury, he said nothing.

Malfoy's grey eyes gleamed with triumph. "Do you accept my terms now, Potter?"

"Fine. I'll be glad to see less of you, anyway." Harry wheeled around, prepared to leave.

"Oh no you don't," said Malfoy, grabbing Harry's wrist in a flash. "I still need one more thing from you."

"Look, Malfoy," Harry began furiously, turning around, "I'm –"

But before Harry could finish, the last thing he had anticipated happened. With his free hand, Malfoy grabbed the front of Harry's robes, shoved him roughly against the trunk of the tree, and slammed his lips against Harry's.

The kiss was clumsy, but ruthless and laced with the bitter taste of abhorrence that clung to Malfoy's surprisingly warm lips. For one very long, very torturous second, all Harry could do was let out a stream of muffled curse words as Malfoy pinned his wrists against the trunk of the tree. Then, before Harry's immobilised senses could alert his limbs to fight back against the sudden assault, it was over.

Harry managed to choke out a cry of disbelief as Malfoy released his wrists and stepped back. Words failed him as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, struggling to catch his breath.

Malfoy stared at Harry impassively for a few seconds. Then, in a soft voice, he said to himself, "Number six."

"Num – number six – what the – how – what the hell is going on here?" Harry yelled, his mind too disjointed by Malfoy's kiss to form full sentences capable of expressing the supreme disbelief and revulsion he felt.

"Never you mind, Potter," Malfoy said, as though reprimanding a curious child. His pretentious smile didn't quite reach his eyes, which still glinted like two cold, hard stones. "See you in class."

On that note, Malfoy walked off, leaving Harry standing at the base of the tree, his mouth agape as a flurry of bewildered thoughts raced through his mind.

--

Draco grimaced as he headed back into the castle, wondering what had compelled him to put _that_ on his list. He licked his lips unconsciously, tasting Potter (he had never understood what people meant when they said that, but now he did), and promptly made a disgusted face. He was crazy; that was it. Why else would he have willingly kissed Harry Potter?

_To humiliate him?_ a small voice suggested helpfully. It was true. Draco did feel a sense of satisfaction knowing he had just left Potter completely and utterly confounded. It was power in a very unusual, twisted form.

Draco glanced up at the clock in the Entrance Hall as he closed the main doors behind him. He still had an hour left in his free period. He felt a twinge of panic when he realised he had nothing to do. The last thing he wanted to do was idle his precious time away, so he decided to head up to the library and resume his research.

The library was nearly empty; not many people, after all, spent their mornings reading. Draco was fine with this. He preferred not being around people now that the looks his presence elicited were more contemptuous than fearful. The situation was made worse by the fact that Draco could do nothing to retaliate. Now that he had been reintroduced to life away from the Dementors, the last thing he wanted was to go back. In order for things to stay as they were, he had to behave.

Draco sat down at one of the study tables, letting his book bag drop to his feet. He reached down and extracted the Potions book he had started scouring the night before. With a heavy sigh, he ran his fingers along the silver title (_Advanced Potion-Making_) before placing it gently on the tabletop and opening it.

He knew exactly where to go. Page five hundred and thirty two: the instructions for brewing Felix Felicis. At first Draco had been sure he wouldn't find the dangerously complicated potion in his school textbook, but he had lucked out. The only thing left to do now was learn how to brew it. This, however, was proving to be far more difficult than Draco had anticipated.

_That fat bastard wasn't kidding when he said this was one of the trickiest potions to make,_ Draco thought as his eyes travelled down the list of thirty or so ingredients, some of which were all but impossible to obtain without paying a high price. The ingredients weren't even the worst of it – the process of brewing the potion, which spanned a total of five months, was terribly intricate. The slightest mistake would cost Draco the potion.

Draco pulled out some parchment and a quill. Leaving these on the table, he stood up and stalked over to the Potions Section. There he began prowling the tall shelves, trying to find books on rare ingredients.

The period passed quickly. Draco only had time to check out two books before it was time for him to go to Transfiguration. As he packed his things up, he wondered briefly why he didn't just skip class. After all, it wasn't as if it _mattered_ – he wouldn't be pursuing a job or anything after he graduated.

Then, suddenly, a smile spread across Draco's face. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a tightly furled sheet of parchment and spread it out on the table. On it he had written a list consisting of thirteen items. Carefully, he pressed his quill to the page and wrote:

_14. Skip classes for one day with no excuse_


	7. A List

_If you can't change your fate, change your attitude._

- Amy Tan

**Chapter 6:** A List

Harry Potter didn't believe in fate. He saw it as nothing more than an imaginary force invented by the weak for the sole purpose of explaining away questionable happenings. It was true that he had once believed in fate, but he had come to change his mind as he began realising that his choices were what really determined the road ahead of him. He had _chosen_ Gryffindor over Slytherin, in spite of the Sorting Hat's words of advice. He had _decided_ to free Sirius, even though Sirius had been meant to die at the Ministry's hands. And no matter how many prophecies stated that he had been destined to kill Voldemort all along, Harry knew that he had killed Voldemort because he had _wanted_ to – not because fate had decided it would be so.

In other words, Harry Potter wasn't one to willingly surrender control, especially to something as intangible and impossible to prove as _fate_.

By the end of the first day of classes, however, Harry was absolutely, positively, without a doubt _sure_ that some higher power up above had, while Harry had been eating breakfast or sleeping or perhaps even before he had arrived at Hogwarts, decided it would be amusing to interfere with Harry's life.

Right off the bat, the fact that Malfoy had kissed him should have warned him of the traumatic events to come. But Harry, oblivious as he was, hadn't heeded the warning. Instead, following Malfoy's departure, he had simply shaken his head in disgust, performed a thorough scouring spell on his mouth (while making a mental note to brush his teeth more vigorously than usual later that night), and returned to the castle, deciding to brush the incident off as a freak and purely accidental meeting of his and Malfoy's lips.

But then they began happening: encounters – several of them – between him and Malfoy.

The first of the said encounters occurred in Potions, when Slughorn decided it would be entertaining to ease the class into the school year by re-enacting Harry's final battle scene with Voldemort as it had been described by the papers – with Malfoy playing the part of the defeated and dying Voldemort.

"There isn't a student in the school more fit for the role!" he had cried jovially, amid snickers and sneers from the students.

Of course, Malfoy had proclaimed furiously that he would never subject to something so degrading and humiliating before elbowing Harry aside and storming out of the room. Harry had fought the urge to follow Malfoy, reminding himself that he could resume his spying on Malfoy once the other boy calmed down. Besides, it wasn't as if Malfoy would attempt something stupid enough to get him caught in his first few weeks of freedom.

As Harry had been leaving the dungeon with Ron and Hermione, however, he had once again run into Malfoy – literally. He had been pretending to listen to Ron's gleeful recount of Malfoy's tantrum when the devil himself appeared out of nowhere in his path. The two of them had consequently walked straight into each other, a collision that had resulted in many exclaimed swear words, some accidental (and perhaps one or two intentional) hexes thrown around, and one very angry Slughorn waddling out of the Potions classroom and ordering "that troublemaking Malfoy boy" to the headmistress's office, while purposely ignoring the fact that Harry had also been at fault. Unfortunately for Harry, the more impartial Flitwick had been passing by at the time of the incident, so Harry had ended up being sent to see McGonagall as well

Thus, the two of them had trudged up several flights of stairs to McGonagall's office, Harry hating Malfoy with every fibre of his being and sure that his feelings were reciprocated in every way. McGonagall had, to Harry's surprise, left him alone for the first hour or so, choosing instead to round on Malfoy and list off a total of seventy-two reasons why she was "severely disappointed, outraged, and appalled" by his behaviour.

When Harry's turn arrived, she had merely told him that his well-known status in the wizarding world would not excuse him from causing trouble, and that she had expected better behaviour from him, even if it was Malfoy who had started it. (Here, Harry had purposely held back from pointing out that they had both played equal parts in starting it.) Then she had given them both detentions and slammed the door in their faces without a further word.

The rest of the day hadn't been any better. Harry had discovered, to his great dismay, that because each N.E.W.T. level subject only had one class that combined students of all houses, he shared _every one_ of his classes with Malfoy. Whether this was an unfortunate coincidence or McGonagall's own way of helping Harry along in his quest to stake out Malfoy Harry didn't know, but either way, it had not done very much to ease the tension between the two of them. Hermione – and later Ron – had watched on with evident worry and suspicion as Harry was paired up with Malfoy to review basic techniques in Charms, Transfiguration, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry was especially indignant about the latter; he had thought Lupin would at least be sympathetic to the difficulties of working with Malfoy.

As terrible as the forced partnerships were, the frequent encounters in the hallways and stairwells (of which, as Ron had later kindly pointed out in the common room, there had been nine of) had been even worse. Sometimes they had simply passed each other by, but more often than not, Harry had found himself bumping into Malfoy. Once, he'd nearly tripped over Malfoy's lanky, outstretched legs in the courtyard, though he had realised almost instantly that this particular near-accident had probably been intentional. Flitwick, however, had once again been in the vicinity, and so Harry had walked away without a word, seething as he pictured the smug look on Malfoy's pointy face.

Thus, it was no wonder that by the time the hour of Harry's detention with Malfoy arrived, he was feeling even wearier than usual.

"See you guys later," he mumbled to Ron and Hermione as he reluctantly stood up from the squashy armchair he had been comfortably curled up on.

"Harry, are you sure you'll be all right?" Hermione asked anxiously, looking up from the thick textbook she was perusing. The shadows cast by the fire in the hearth danced nimbly across her face as she took in Harry's drawn features. "Honestly, I can't believe you've got a detention already… It's only the second night back…"

"Yeah, well, you'd be better off taking it to McGonagall," Harry said irritably, blinking and feeling slightly dazed by the flickering shadows.

"Hermione, leave him be," Ron said defensively. He was lounging carelessly on the unoccupied couch across the table from Hermione. "Don't you think it's bad enough already that he's got to spend two hours reorganising the library with Malfoy?"

Hermione sent a withering glare in Ron's direction. "I personally think McGonagall went easy on them! Reorganising the books isn't that awful of a punishment, you know; at least not for nearly cursing an entire hallway-full of students. And Harry, you must admit you're _somewhat _to blame… Really, you ought to have just ignored Malfoy in the first place…"

"You think I'm purposely running into him?" Harry asked incredulously. "Are you kidding, Hermione? I haven't changed _that_ much…"

His voice trailed off, however, when it hit him that he really had no basis for his objection. His recent behaviour when it came to Malfoy certainly did imply that a part of him had morphed into something – someone – that the Pre-War Harry would never have recognised, much less accepted. Hermione was merely acknowledging the reality of it, voicing the facts that continued to lurk just below Harry's consciousness even after he had tried to bury them away…

"Harry?"

"Huh?" Harry snapped out of his thoughts upon being addressed by Ron.

"D'you want us to walk you to the library?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as his brain slowly processed the words. When their meaning became clear, he said hastily, "Oh, no, it's okay. I – er, I need to be alone for a little while. To figure out what I'm going to do about all these weird meetings with Malfoy."

Ron frowned. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Harry smiled weakly at Ron, remembering that he had yet to find a suitable way to tell his friend about his role in Malfoy's trial. "You two don't need to bother yourselves with me."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said sharply, her hand pausing mid-way to her quill. "No one is being 'bothered by you'. We just haven't spent much time together ever since…" she faltered, then finished in a softer voice, "ever since the war began."

Ron cleared his throat loudly and glared at Hermione, a sort of secret message shared between the two of them that somehow drove Hermione to adopt a guilty expression.

"Sorry," she said meekly, though it was more to Ron than to Harry. "Go ahead, Harry. We'll wait here for you."

"You don't need to," Harry shrugged, feeling rather like a young boy watching his parents exchange silent, meaningful looks at the dinner table. With a jolt, he realised that for the first time in his life, he was the one being excluded from their three-way friendship, even if it wasn't on purpose – and he didn't like the feeling very much.

"We want to," Ron said stubbornly. "And when you come back you can tell us about all the things Malfoy did to you so that we can threaten him for you later. We've already got loads of dirt against him, but it can't hurt to have more…"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, he's not a child," she said with a hint of exasperation. "He can handle Malfoy on his own. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said dully. He turned to leave. "Bye then…"

He left the common room, almost glad to finally be away from Ron and Hermione. They had been fussing over him ever since the end of classes. Harry suspected they were trying to make up for their inability to help him during the war, but as much as he appreciated their efforts, it was beginning to get annoying.

When Harry arrived at the library, Madam Pince was waiting for him by the doors, her shrivelled face twisted into a suspicious glower. "The other boy is inside," she snapped irritably.

Harry followed her into the library. Sure enough, Malfoy was sitting on one of the couches by the entrance, his feet propped up on the low coffee table in front of him.

"Feet off the table!" Madam Pince squawked, shuffling over to Malfoy with a wild look in her eyes.

An expression of extreme alarm crossed Malfoy's face, and he quickly dropped his feet to the carpeted floor before the librarian could attack him. Harry bit back a smirk. Of all the people at Hogwarts, Madam Pince was the last one he would've expected Malfoy to obey.

Harry's amusement, however, did not last very long, for he soon discovered that he and Malfoy were to spend the next two hours immersed in the tedious job of rebinding old textbooks that had fallen into disrepair.

"McGonagall said we were going to be organising the books!" Malfoy exclaimed angrily when the sudden change of plans was revealed.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry snapped before Madam Pince could launch into a tirade about ungrateful students. The dim lighting in the library was making him sleepy, and all he wanted was to get the task done with as soon as possible. Turning to Madam Pince, he said politely, "Where do we start?"

"Transfiguration Section," she replied stiffly, shooting Malfoy a spiteful glare. "If I find you've been tampering with any of my books… If there is so much as a _tear_ in any of the pages…"

"I know, I know," Harry cut in quickly. "We won't do anything."

He left Madam Pince, dragging Malfoy along behind him. The other boy let out an indignant sound of protest but allowed himself to be pulled over to the safety of the bookshelves anyway.

"Miserable bint," Malfoy spat out once they arrived at the Transfiguration Section. He shook Harry's hand off furiously and stalked over to the end of the low row of books.

"Talking to me again, Malfoy?" Harry asked mildly. He looked up at stuffed shelves with considerable apprehension. "I can't believe she's making us do this."

"No, Potter, I'm talking to myself," Malfoy said sarcastically. He extracted a random, leather-bound book and flipped through it, making a face when small puffs of dust flew up to greet him. "Thanks for landing me in detention, though."

Harry shoved the book he had been in the process of pulling out back into its spot angrily. "Don't you dare blame this on me," he growled, rounding on Malfoy. "You were just as much at fault as I was."

"Oh, please," Malfoy scoffed, slamming the book he held shut. He tossed it on the floor carelessly and walked up to Harry. "Don't think I didn't see you stalking me around school today. Your obsession with me is getting out of hand."

"The size of your ego is astounding," said Harry, disgusted. "All those meetings were just coincidences. I didn't ask Slughorn to appoint you the fallen Voldemort, so don't take your wounded pride out on me. I don't want anything to do with you, Malfoy. You're nothing more than scum on the soles of my shoes to me."

To prove it, he shoved Malfoy away from him roughly.

Angry red spots appeared in Malfoy's pale cheeks. "Don't touch me," he hissed venomously. His long, pale fingers gripped the edge of the bookshelf tightly.

"Oh, you're one to talk," Harry said mockingly. "Snogged any Gryffindors lately? Besides me, of course."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "That's none of your business," he mumbled.

"None of my business?" Harry repeated incredulously. "You bloody kissed me! Like hell that isn't my business…"

The red in Malfoy's cheeks was spreading. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought Malfoy was blushing. He did know better, however, and what he knew informed him that Malfoys didn't blush. Malfoys weren't capable of mustering up enough emotion to blush.

"Get to work," Harry said coldly after a minute or so of resentful silence. "I'm not going to do all of this by myself."

Harry turned away from Malfoy and began taking out books and stacking them on the floor. The ones in decent condition he placed back on the shelves. Then, one by one, he carried the old, loosely-bound volumes over to the nearby study tables and placed them under the light where he would be able to see them better.

Sighing, Harry picked up the first volume in a very tall stack. Tapping it with his wand, he said, "_Reparo!_" The tattered yellow cover immediately rearranged itself and merged back into one piece.

The time passed slowly. There were over three hundred books stored in the Transfiguration Section, and over two-thirds of them ended up needing rebinding. Nearly an hour inched by before Harry, with a great deal of relief, finally found himself returning the last of the books he had repaired (_Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration_) to its former spot.

"Malfoy, are you done?" he called out grouchily as he brushed the dust off his hands.

There was a rustling sound, and then Malfoy looked around his end of the bookshelf. "I've been done for ages," he said irritably.

"Well, good, we can get onto the Potions Section then," Harry replied petulantly. He winced at the prospect of rebinding more books. "I want to get as much finished tonight as possible."

The Potions Section went by considerably faster. As Harry transferred shabby volumes from the shelves to tables in the study area, he couldn't help noting dryly how peculiar it was that he had slipped back into the Hogwarts lifestyle so quickly. Less than two weeks ago he had been duelling and incarcerating Death Eaters, and now he was carrying out detention in the library with one.

After a while, Harry noticed something odd: The only noises he heard were coming from him, meaning Malfoy had stopped moving around. Assuming the other boy was slacking off, Harry angrily shoved his wand in his pocket and stalked back to the Potions section.

"Malfoy, get back to –" he started to say, but he stopped when he turned the corner and saw Malfoy. His eyebrows skyrocketed up to his hairline. "What the hell are you doing?"

Malfoy was sitting against one of the bookshelves, pointing his lit wand down at the thick book lying open in his lap. He was so engrossed in the text that he didn't even notice when Harry approached him.

Harry was very vexed now. Leaning down right next to Malfoy's ear, he said loudly, "Get back to work!"

Malfoy jumped at the sudden noise, causing his head and Harry's nose to collide. With a yelp, Harry fell back and landed painfully on his rear.

"Good Lord, Potter, don't scare me like that," Malfoy exclaimed heatedly, scrambling backwards. His pale face was even whiter than usual, and he seemed rather flustered by the sudden interruption.

"Yeah, well, next time don't sit around reading while you're in detention," Harry growled in return as he reached up to adjust his glasses and rub his nose. "Besides, I'm the one who got injured!"

"That's your own fault," Malfoy snapped. He leaned over and grabbed his book, pulling it to his chest protectively. "Sod off, I'm busy."

Harry stared at Malfoy disbelievingly, not sure if he had heard right. "Didn't you learn anything from all that time in Azkaban?"

"No, Potter, I was too busy trying to keep my soul from being chewed apart by the dementors to worry about learning my lesson," Malfoy replied sardonically. He picked up his wand and started flipping through the book again, his own way of making it clear that the conversation was over.

But Harry wasn't finished yet. "You didn't seem to be bothered by them during the trial," he grumbled as he stood up gingerly.

"Just because things _seem_ doesn't mean they _are_," Malfoy replied snootily. He carefully smoothed down a wrinkled page. "Now for the last time, _clear off_."

Harry folded his arms and frowned. "I'm not leaving until you start holding up your end of the punishment," he said stubbornly.

Silence.

He tried again. "What are you reading? Is that _Hogwarts: A History_?"

Malfoy looked up sharply. "Why would I be reading that?" he said contemptuously, but the flicker of panic in his eyes betrayed him.

Harry bit his lip. Malfoy was definitely hiding something. Then he remembered that they were in the Potions Section… and suddenly the two pieces of the puzzle clicked.

"This has to do with your trip to the Apothecary, doesn't it?" he accused.

"No, it doesn't," Malfoy said hastily, looking positively alarmed now. "Stop nosing into my business, Potter!"

"You're a shoddy liar," Harry muttered, walking up to Malfoy again. Ignoring the other boy's angry protests, he leaned down and jerked the book away. As he did so, a sheet of spare parchment fluttered out from between the brittle, yellowing pages. Surprised, Harry asked out loud, "What's this?"

"Don't –" Malfoy started to say, but Harry was too quick for him. With one nimble swipe of his hand, he snatched up the piece of paper.

---

_Shit._

The word echoed in Draco's head over and over again, pounding a dull rhythm against his skull, as he watched Potter pick up the list – _his_ list – and turn it over to read it.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi–_

"One: Be invisible."

Draco almost groaned out loud. Potter was reading the bloody list. Potter was reading the bloody list _out loud_. But despite his mortification, Draco couldn't help shooting Potter a sideways glance.

Potter's eyes had widened, and for one bewildered second Draco thought he saw a spark of recognition in their green depths.

"Two: Climb a tree all the way to the top."

Confusion replaced recognition.

"Three: Ride a Thestral."

Two black eyebrows rose dubiously.

"Four: Get drunk."

Another few millimetres.

"Five: Hold a civil conversation with a member of every house."

Twitch of a cheek muscle.

"Six: Kiss my worst enemy. Done."

Complete understanding.

As cool, calm, and collected as Draco liked to think he was, this was the last straw. There was nothing – _nothing_ – in the world he wanted more at that moment than for the ground beneath him to open up and swallow him whole.

"So this is what you were doing earlier today."

"That's all you have to say?" Draco asked incredulously. _Perhaps he doesn't realise what he's holding_, he thought hopefully.

"Well, what else am I supposed to say?" Potter looked annoyed now. "As heartwarming as your wish to befriend Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors is, I frankly find it a little weird that you've written down a list of things to do. _And_ that you planned to kiss me in advance."

He gave an affected shudder. Draco hated him more than he had ever hated anyone in his life.

"If you find it weird, give it back," he snarled, his voice trembling with humiliation as he extended a hand.

Potter grinned, and his eyes lit up in the dimness. "Sorry, Malfoy, but I really can't turn down the chance to have a look at the rest of your plans." He glanced down at the list. "Looks like there are a lot of them, too."

Draco gnashed his teeth in frustration. Potter was holding his list _and_ his book. "Those aren't exactly… _plans_…" he said in a strangled voice.

"Oh, really?" Potter's eyes snapped up to look at Draco over the top of the piece of parchment. With a sinking feeling, Draco realised that Potter had probably been waiting for him to speak up in regards to the true purpose of the list. "What are they, then?"

"Nothing," Draco snapped. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to contain his aggravation. "Just hand it –"

But at that moment, he was interrupted by the arrival of Madam Pince. She remarked nastily on their slow progress before informing them that their detention for the evening was over and that they were to return the subsequent nights to finish up the rest of the library.

"And mind your grip on that book," she said waspishly to Potter before she stalked away. "Those pages are fragile!"

"Yeah, sure," Potter mumbled. He handed the book back to Draco, and Draco accepted it with a sigh of relief. Potter hadn't had the chance to see the page he had been reading.

Once they were alone again, Draco stood up and said coldly, "Give it back to me, Potter."

"No."

"I'm serious."

"I am, too."

"It's _mine_!" Draco hissed. He didn't want to cause a commotion that might bring Madam Pince running back, but even so, his fingers involuntarily curled tightly around the handle of his wand.

Potter smirked in a self-satisfied manner. "Don't lose your temper now, Malfoy. You don't want to land yourself in another detention. This one's already going to take us through to the end of the month, you know."

Panic rose within Draco. What if Potter meant it? What if he kept the list and… and… and showed it to his friends? "Oh God," Draco moaned quietly. That would be the end of him. He had written down all sorts of humiliating things on that single sheet of parchment, and if the Weasel ever so much as caught a glimpse of them, Draco wouldn't hesitate to throw himself into the waiting tentacles of the Giant Squid.

"What's that?" Potter asked curiously.

Draco was furious to find that Potter was looking livelier than he had for the past few days.

"I'm glad you're enjoying this," Draco muttered under his breath. He took a deep breath. Time to try another tactic. "Can we take this outside?"

Potter looked surprised by this proposal, but he agreed to it nonetheless. They walked out side-by-side, for neither boy was willing to walk in front of the other. That would have required trust, and trust was certainly not one of the sentiments shared between them.

Once they were clear of the library, Draco sprang to action. Grabbing the front of Potter's robes in one hand, he slammed the other boy up against the stone wall, pointed his wand at his throat, and said in a dangerously low whisper, "Give me the list, Potter. Now."

Potter's eyes darkened. When he spoke, the earlier playfulness in his voice was gone, leaving it chillingly serious. "Let go of me, Malfoy. I've had enough of being physically assaulted by you for one day."

Draco immediately released Potter, his cheeks burning. "I need that list," he said almost pleadingly, loathing himself for giving in to desperation and Potter's games so easily. "I can't – no one can – it's for my eyes only –"

"I don't understand why this is so important to you. Everyone has aspirations; just because yours aren't very Slytherin-like…" said Potter, shaking his head in confusion. The cutting edge in his tone had disappeared to be replaced by something softer. "I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you're afraid of."

Of course not. Of course Potter wouldn't tell anyone, as noble and reliable and honest as he was. Draco's lower lip curled in disgust. "I hate you," he breathed.

"Yeah, I noticed," Potter replied, rolling his eyes. He placed both palms against Draco's chest and pushed him away firmly. "I'll give it to you, okay? Just let me read it first."

Draco supposed he could have cursed Potter at that moment with one of the spells he had learned from his father's mates, but that would have been troublesome and potentially messy. Thus, helpless to do otherwise, he dropped his hands to his sides and nodded in resignation. _Just get this over with quickly_, he prayed silently.

A stifling silence fell as Draco waited for Potter to finish reading the rest of the items on his list. He was aware of his heart beating wildly against his ribcage, and hoped fervently that Potter couldn't hear it.

After a few minutes that felt more like hours to Draco, Potter looked up. He exhaled shakily as he held out the now-creased sheet of parchment to Draco.

Draco took it without a word. He tried to say something malicious, something aggressive, something along the lines of "Don't ever fuck with me again, Potter, or you'll regret it," but the words kept getting lost somewhere halfway up his windpipe. He therefore resorted to staring at the ground instead.

"Why is this so important to you, Malfoy?"

Potter's voice was soft and coaxing, like the tone adults use to persuade frightened children out from under the bed covers after a violent lightning storm. Draco shook his head. He would _never_ tell Potter.

"Save someone from the edge of death. Conquer your worst fear. Brew Felix Felicis." Potter's sharp intake of breath made a whistling sound as it passed through his teeth. "Those aren't goals you can accomplish in one day."

"How observant of you," Draco muttered, unable to locate the usual biting tone he liked to weave into his speech.

"You left a part of this list behind that night when I saw you in the library," Potter observed thoughtfully, "which means you probably spent a lot of time writing and editing it. Why are you putting so much effort into it? Do you actually plan to go through with all of these things?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Draco demanded defensively. Then he shook his head vehemently. "No. Never mind. I'm not going to discuss this with you."

He wheeled around, determined to return to the Slytherin common room before Potter said another word, but Potter quickly stepped around him to block his path.

"Tell me," he said obstinately.

"Get out of my way!" Draco exclaimed in frustration, reaching out to thrust Potter aside, but Potter easily caught his wrist. Draco stiffened at the contact.

"Malfoy," Potter said calmly, "so far today you've shoved me up against a tree and snogged me, tried to curse me in the hallway, landed me in detention, run into me a total of nine times, and left me to rebind all the books in the Potions Section of the library without lifting a finger. If you didn't owe me for saving your arse from the dementors before, you sure as hell owe me now."

Something inside of Draco snapped.

"Fine," he spat, tearing his wrist out of Potter's grasp. "It's a list of things I want to do before I die, all right?"


	8. A Confrontation

_It is difficult to say who do you the most mischief: enemies with the worst intentions or friends with the best._  
- E.R. Bulwer-Lytton

**Chapter 7:** A Confrontation

Nearly two weeks passed before Harry came into close contact with Malfoy again. Even during their detentions, they always worked in silence and as far apart as possible. Harry found this extremely odd, considering the number of classes they had together and the extraordinarily high number of encounters they'd had on the first day of school. When they finally did happen across each other, it was in the most unexpected of places.

"You don't have to come," Harry said exasperatedly as he climbed the spiralling steps up to the Owlery with Ron. It was Sunday morning, but despite the early hour, Ron had insisted on accompanying Harry on the trivial task of sending out an order for a new winter cloak.

"C'mon, Harry. First you were ill for a week, and then when we got here our timetables were completely different. We never have time to talk anymore. Besides," Ron added, holding up an untidily rolled-up scroll of parchment, "I've got to this order in."

"I could've sent it for you," Harry said with a shrug. He tried to shut out the tiny voice at the back of his mind screaming, _Don't push Ron away, too!_

A guilty look crossed Ron's face. "Well, I wanted to avoid being dragged to the library," he said sheepishly.

Harry smiled. "Of course."

They ascended the stairs in an uncomfortable silence. Every so often, Ron stole a fleeting look at Harry. Harry, though fully aware of the wariness with which he was regarded, pretended not to notice.

When they entered the Owlery, Harry looked up, expecting to see the familiar sight of a speck of white fluttering down towards him from a sea of brown. He immediately checked himself, remembering, with a pang, that Hedwig had been hit by a Killing Curse gone astray during one of the battles.

"Bad luck, mate," Ron said sympathetically, accurately interpreting Harry's expression. "Couldn't have done anything about it, though."

"Yeah." Harry gazed at the rows of school owls. "Feels odd not going to her first with post."

Ron shrugged. "A lot of things are different now. It'll take some time to adjust."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Hermione's rubbing off on you."

"Why d'you say that?" Ron asked, looking both affronted and pleased by Harry's comment.

"You're a lot more serious now."

Ron's smile didn't crinkle his eyes like it used to. "I guess I've realised that life isn't just about Quidditch and food anymore. Things seem a lot less… I dunno, carefree."

Harry didn't say anything in response to this. Instead, he busied himself with finding a suitable owl.

"Hey, Harry?"

Harry paused in the middle of affixing his order form to the leg of a small scops owl. "Yeah?'

Ron hadn't moved. "I know you probably want to be left alone right now, and I understand, really, but… are you okay? You can tell me," he added hastily upon receiving a blank stare from Harry. "If there's something you want to talk about that you don't want Hermione to know…"

_I think you've got it the other way around, Ron._

"No, nothing." Harry's owl screeched in protest when he tied the knot a little too tightly. "Sorry," he said to the creature.

"Well, you seem a little distracted lately…"

Harry stifled an exasperated sigh as he carried the owl over to the window. In an effort to erase all traces of the kiss in the courtyard from his conscious memory, Harry hadn't told Ron and Hermione about the incident, so they didn't know about that half of the reason for his recent distractedness. But the other half… they were fully aware of _that_.

"It's just a little overwhelming, coming back to school right after the war and all." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, just above his glasses. Why couldn't he bring himself to pour out his worries to Ron? The two of them had always been open with each other in the past.

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain why you and Malfoy are suddenly so chummy."

"We're not." Harry thrust the owl off his arm and watched it flap off into the distance, aware that a nervous knot was starting to grow in his stomach, the same one that had recently started making regular appearances every time Ron mentioned Malfoy's name.

"But you haven't complained about your detentions yet," Ron pointed out. Harry recognised the suspicion in his tone.

"We don't really talk much," Harry stammered. "I mean, there're a lot of books, so we're working most of the time…"

"He hasn't said anything nasty to you yet?" Ron questioned, raising his eyebrows. "He must've at least tried to curse you once or twice while Pince wasn't around."

Harry couldn't bring himself to turn around and face Ron for fear that his face would reveal his lies, so he continued to stare out the open window into the clear blue sky. "Honestly, Ron, I don't think he wants to ruin his last chance at life."

His mind immediately flashed back to Malfoy's list, and a number of burning questions he hadn't had the chance to ask yet popped up. _I'll ask him tonight,_ he promised himself.

"I wouldn't be so quick to assume," Ron said, shaking his head. "He's not like the rest of us. If he cared so much about life, he would've stayed away from You-Know-Who. A bloke who willingly gives up his life to Dark magic is either stupid or mad – and we both know Malfoy isn't _that_ stupid."

"That's the closest thing to a compliment you've ever said about Malfoy," Harry teased. He placed his elbows on the windowsill and leaned forward, enjoying the calming effect the cool breeze had on his jangled nerves. "As for his joining Voldemort's side… well, I don't really think he had much of a choice. He was scared. His father was a Death Eater; he must've felt pressured to become one too."

Ron shook his head in amazement. "I can't believe you're siding with him," he said, joining Harry by the window. "Harry, he _murdered people_!"

"I know, Ron," Harry said. His voice rose, though he continued to avoid Ron's eyes. "You think I don't care? I never said he _deserves_ a second chance! I just think that… that maybe we ought to look at things from his perspective, too. It might be hard to believe sometimes, but he's still a human being."

Ron's anger was unmistakable now. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that Hermione and Ginny were right about you!"

"How d'you mean?" Harry asked. His own anger evaporated, allowing the uneasiness that had preceded it to edge back in.

"They said you were the one who tipped the vote at Malfoy's trial. I mean, the rest of the school thinks so, too. Ginny even showed me some cock-and-bull article written by that Skeeter woman… said it was proof that you did it…"

Harry swallowed, gripping the stone ledge under his hands. "About that, Ron…"

"Obviously, I said it was codswallop," Ron rambled on, "but judging from the way you just defended Malfoy, I'm starting to see how someone who doesn't know you as well as I do might believe the rumours floating around."

Ron took a deep breath, as if prepared to give Harry a piece of his mind, and then released it quickly. Apparently he had remembered he was supposed to support Harry through his post-war trauma.

"Who d'you reckon was the one who really freed him?" he asked in a tone of forced calm. "Can't imagine anyone would be thick enough to…"

Harry's panic retreated into its dark confines for the moment. The niggling voice that had been urging him to tell Ron all week, however, only grew stronger.

"Didn't you come to send that broomstick order?"

"Yeah, sorry." Ron left Harry at the window to search for an owl.

Harry waited while Ron attached his order form to one of the school's owls. Once the owl had flown away, Harry headed for the door. "Hermione's probably wondering what's taking us so long."

Before Harry could grasp the door handle, however, the door swung open. Harry reflexively leapt back to avoid being hit in the face.

"Watch where you're –" he started to say indignantly, but he stopped mid-sentence when he saw the culprit.

"Mind your step, Potter," said the all-too-familiar voice, dripping with scorn.

"Piss off, Malfoy," Ron said before Harry could think of an intelligent retort.

"Fancy meeting you here, Weasley," Malfoy drawled. "I would've thought there'd be no need for you to visit the Owlery anymore, seeing as you no longer have any relatives to send post to."

The blood drained from Ron's face. "Say that again," he challenged, voice shaking with suppressed rage, hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

"Leave him alone, Malfoy," Harry said, stepping to the right and blocking Malfoy's view of Ron. "You've got some fucking gall, saying something like that to him. Last I heard, you haven't got any parents either."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but his smirk remained affixed. "I don't know if you're in the right position to say something so bold, Potter."

"And I don't know what the hell you mean, Malfoy," Harry said, spurred on by the deafening sound of the blood pounding in his ears. Ron no longer existed; for the moment, Harry and Malfoy were back in the world borne from their mutual hatred for one another.

"The Slytherins. My housemates. You're the reason why _their_ families are dead." The words were said in a low hiss, unnervingly akin to the sound of Parseltongue. "It's because of you that they were forced to choose a side, and now they're suffering the consequences of it. You killed their loved ones; you know that, don't you?"

Despite Harry's best efforts to shut out Malfoy's goads, each word struck him like a well-aimed dart, piercing the thin, protective wall around his doubts. "It's not – don't pretend you care –"

"I may not care, but you do." Malfoy met Harry's glare smugly. "And you know what, Potter? It bothers the hell out of you, because you're weak."

The control Harry had been struggling to maintain shattered. He fumbled in his pockets for his wand, determined to shut Malfoy up once and for all, but before he could find it, he became aware of the cool tip of Malfoy's own wand pressing against the sensitive skin of his throat.

"Don't even think about it, Potter," Malfoy said, using his wand to tilt Harry's chin up. He smiled at Harry's sharp intake of breath. "We still have two detentions left, and I'm not ready to carry them out on my own."

"Then I recommend you withdraw your wand," Harry said through clenched teeth, Malfoy's wand jabbing uncomfortably into his Adam's apple with each word he spoke.

Malfoy drew back. His eyes flicked over to where Ron stood, apparently too confused by the exchange going on between Harry and Malfoy to think of a suitable curse, and his eyebrows raised a notch. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.

"Didn't you come here to send something?" Harry blurted out after Malfoy's retreating form in frustration.

"I'll come back when the environment is more sterile," Malfoy responded, waving his wand over his shoulder without looking back.

Harry would have chosen that moment to throw a hex at Malfoy, but he was distracted by a strangled yelp behind him. He wheeled around to see Ron clutching his right hand, glaring down at his wand, which lay at his feet.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, thoughts of Malfoy momentarily fleeing his mind.

"My wand! It burned my hand!"

Harry bent down and picked up Ron's wand. He examined it closely before handing it to Ron. "You must've gripped it too hard or something."

Ron took his wand back, his expression sullen. "I'm going to make sure I murder that slimy bastard with my own hands someday," he swore, his lips curling back in an indecorous snarl.

"Make sure you let me have a go at him before you finish him off," Harry said darkly. It seemed, after all, that Ron was right. Malfoy really didn't deserve sympathy of any sort – no matter how many lists of things to do in the next nine months he made.

--

Draco's heart pounded rapidly as he raced down the spiralling staircase leading from the Owlery. He was both delighted and nervous at once; delighted because he had finally satiated a part of his desire for revenge against Potter, but nervous because he didn't know how long their current standings would last before Potter retaliated.

Still, he never would have expected Potter's line to be one so easily crossed. Draco had always suspected that death was one of Potter's weak points, but he'd barely managed to contain his surprise when it took only a few well-placed comments to push Potter over the edge.

It looked like the hero wasn't invincible after all.

--

The first thing Ron did when he and Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room was recount every detail of their encounter with Malfoy to Hermione. Hermione listened raptly, shaking her head every once in a while, but otherwise making no interruptions.

"And then he walked away, just like _that_." Ron snapped his fingers. He seemed to be replaying the scene in his head, because an ugly scowl appeared on his face. "Can you believe it, Hermione? After everything he's gone through, he still hasn't got a scrap of decency in him!"

"I think it's going to take a lot more than a death threat to turn Malfoy around, Ron," Hermione said with a sigh. Her gaze briefly flitted over to Harry. "He hated your family, so I doubt he feels any remorse for what he did. But to sink so low…"

Harry said nothing. His rage had cooled down. Now he felt – and there was no other way to describe it – _betrayed_. It was as though the vulnerable side of Malfoy that Harry thought he had seen the night of their first detention had been nothing more than a figment of Harry's imagination, an illusion that Malfoy had, with a few biting remarks, trampled on and destroyed.

"He made Harry out to be a murderer, too!" Ron exclaimed. "As if it's Harry's fault those Slytherins' parents chose to join You-Know-Who… Harry, you shouldn't have let him get to you…"

Hermione looked concerned as she turned towards Harry. "You know he was just trying to provoke you, right? Malfoy's made a living out of locating people's weak spots. He knows exactly what to say when it comes to hurting you, Harry. You shouldn't listen to him."

"Maybe he was right," Harry said dully.

"Harry!" Ron looked outraged. "Don't tell me you believe him!"

Harry picked at a hole in the arm of the sofa he sat on. "I did a lot of things during the war that neither of you know about." _And a lot of things after it that one of you doesn't,_ he added silently.

"We may not know much of what happened, but Malfoy knows even less," Hermione pointed out. She didn't look upset or angry, just determined to have Harry hear her out. "Who do you think knows you better? Ron and I or Malfoy?"

"You, but –"

"But you still think Malfoy is a better judge of your character?"

"I didn't mean –"

"Then why don't you trust us when we tell you you're not a murderer?" Now signs of agitation were beginning to creep into Hermione's voice. "How many times do we have to tell you that you're not at fault before you finally start to believe it? Harry, it's been nearly a month since the end of the war. It's time you stopped lingering on what happened."

"Yeah, she's right," Ron added before Harry could open his mouth to defend himself. "You're a completely different person now. Everyone's noticed it. McGonagall even came up to me the other day and told me to keep an eye on you, and she never talks to me unless she's got something important to say."

This time, Harry was determined to get a word in. "You're both worrying too much!"

"Who's worrying too much?" asked a voice behind Harry.

Harry turned. Ginny stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the dormitories, her eyebrows raised. "What's going on?"

"We're trying to tell Harry he didn't kill anyone who didn't deserve to die," Ron said as Ginny walked over to Harry. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

"I'm not his mother, Ron," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. Nevertheless, she put her hand over Harry's and asked quietly, "Run-in with Malfoy?"

"How'd you know?" Harry said wryly. "It's nothing. He badmouthed your mum and dad, and I lost my temper."

Ginny's lips tightened. "What did he say?"

"It doesn't matter," Ron cut in angrily. "The fact still stands that he's a scumbag who isn't fit to talk crap about anyone. He ought to be in Azkaban chatting it up with the Dementors, not over here gloating about how many people he helped finish off!"

There was silence, and then Hermione spoke, her tone making it clear that she was finished with their conversation. "I'm going to head down to the library now."

"You haven't stopped by yet?" Ron asked. This startling fact seemed to be enough to distract him from thoughts of his and Harry's encounter with Malfoy. "I thought for sure you would've run up there the moment the start-of-year feast ended."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron. Of course I've gone to the library. Just because we're dating doesn't mean I'm obligated to keep you updated on every waking moment of my life."

"Oh, is that why you never come down to supper anymore?" Ron looked very miffed. It seemed he _did_ think he deserved to be informed of Hermione's daily activities. "You're not meeting someone up there, are you? No secret meetings, like the ones you had with Vicky?"

Hermione shot Ron a withering glare. "Honestly, that comment doesn't even warrant a reply. But if you must know, I've also been visiting Lupin to stay updated on what's happening with the Order."

Ron straightened up. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to see him? I would've gone with you! Lupin never has time to talk after class."

"Ron, you have more free periods than I can count on one hand. Can't you go see him during one of those?"

Ron muttered something about prefect duties. Hermione clucked her tongue but said nothing more.

"Do you want to go outside and play Quidditch, Harry?" Ginny asked in the silence that followed.

"Brilliant!" Ron said eagerly. "I haven't flown for ages. What d'you say, Harry?"

"I wasn't asking _you_, you dolt. He's right, though, Harry. It's nice outside, and it's been a while since we last played. Chances are McGonagall won't end up reinstating inter-house Quidditch, so we'll have to organise games on our own from now on."

Harry perked up slightly at the talk of Quidditch. Of course – Quidditch would make him feel better in an instant. He wanted nothing more than to streak through the air with no restraints, to feel the familiar swooping sensation that weakened his knees and made him feel weightless.

"Good idea," he said, standing up. "Know anyone you and Ron can borrow brooms from?"

"The school should still have some in the broom shed. We can use those for now."

"But those are practically falling apart!" Ron protested, looking scandalised at the idea of riding on such unseemly brooms.

Ginny glared at Ron. "Do you have a better idea?"

Ron wilted under Ginny's fierce glare. "No, not really."

"Then let's go."

--

Over at the other end of Hogwarts, Draco had just arrived at a very profound conclusion: Sundays were, without a doubt, the most pointless day of the week. They were cowardly, nestling safely in between Saturday, the peak of the weekend, and Monday, the beginning of the week to avoid getting caught in a rush of activity. They were also lazy and sluggish, existing purely to satisfy one's inner sloth. People spent Sundays loafing about their common rooms, attempting to finish extra homework while really discussing relationship troubles or playing games of wizard chess. Nothing was ever accomplished on Sundays.

In short, Sundays were the bane of Draco's current existence.

There was once a time when Draco would have welcomed the arrival of a Sunday. It meant he could slink back down to the cool shelter of the Slytherin common room, where he'd employ his fellow housemates (usually first years) to nick food from the kitchens for him.

But Draco was no longer in a position to exercise that kind of power. The Slytherins were no longer scared of him. In their eyes, Potter's involvement in the outcome of Draco's trial was proof that he was a disgrace to the ideals of their house. Rumours about Draco's relationship with Potter's side spread faster than dragon pox; hard stares chased him out of the common room every time he ventured in. Needless to say, the comfortable Sundays Draco had once enjoyed were no more.

This particular Sunday found Draco walking towards the Quidditch pitch, arms wrapped around his middle in a feeble attempt to ward off the chill setting in. The sun was just beginning to set, and the grounds were swathed in rosy hues of purple, red, and orange. Draco might have stopped to enjoy the beauty of the scene before him if he hadn't been so preoccupied with the fact that he now had one less Sunday afternoon to waste away before his imminent execution.

"Bloody Potter," he swore under his breath, though he knew it was partly his fault for not making better use of his time.

Draco instinctively glanced up at the sky as he neared the pitch. A pang of longing passed through him at the sight of the six hoops gleaming gold in the waning daylight. It had been over a year since he'd last sat on a broom, and sight and smell of the Quidditch pitch made his desire to fly again rise within him, so strong he could almost taste it.

_Not a chance,_ he reminded himself gloomily. Of all the things he'd been allowed to purchase at Diagon Alley, a broomstick had not been one of them. After all, McGonagall couldn't have the school convict escaping the grounds by air.

Draco stepped through the spectators' entrance and onto the field, his shoes sinking into the soft turf. He breathed in the smell of damp earth, remembering the endless hours he had spent practising on this very pitch – practising to beat Potter just once, a feat he had never managed to accomplish.

The sound of a distant voice made Draco tense. Someone else was on the pitch.

He ducked behind the stands and waited with bated breath, trying to ignore the cobwebs tickling his nose. Being found meant another detention – at the very least.

"I'm fine, really. I just want to take a few more laps around the goalposts."

Draco strained his ears. The voice – he was sure it was male now – sounded vaguely familiar, but he wasn't close enough to recognise it.

"We don't mind waiting for you down here," said a second voice, this one female.

"Yeah, it's not a good idea to stay out here alone in the dark," a third person added. "McGonagall will kill us if she finds out we left you by yourself."

"I'm _sure_. Go on – I won't try to escape on my broom."

The girl laughed. "Well, that's a relief. We'll see you later, then. Don't forget, dinner's in half an hour."

"Yeah. See you."

Draco shrunk back as the sound of the boy's friends' footsteps drew near. When they walked into view, he tried to get a good look at their faces, but the falling darkness made it difficult to see. To Draco's relief, neither of them glanced in his direction as they left the pitch.

_Now's a good time to leave,_ Draco reasoned once the sound of the boy kicking off reached his ears. _He won't see me from up in the air…_

Curiosity, however, kept Draco glued to his spot. Even though he had nothing to gain from it, Draco wanted to know which of the Hogwarts students loved flying so much he would rather stay in the chilly night air and practise alone than return to the warm castle with his friends.

Draco crept forward until his view encompassed the entire pitch. He searched the skies, squinting to see in the darkness. He could make out a faint blur streaking across the starless evening sky, but nothing more than that.

Frustrated, Draco stepped out from behind the stands. He watched as the boy circled the distant goalposts twice. Even though Draco's view was limited, he had to admit that whoever the kid was, he had excellent form. His body was so seamlessly aligned with his broom that it was almost as if they were one.

As Draco continued to watch, the boy effortlessly completed three tight loops in the air before turning sharply into a dive, out of which he easily pulled a metre or so above the ground. He then slowed down until he was drifting about languidly, the soles of his trainers grazing the tips of the long grass on the field.

Draco let his breath out in a hiss. He'd recognise that flying style anywhere. For countless years he had resentfully studied those sharp, quick manoeuvres, secretly tried to learn that skilfully controlled dive.

How could he not have known the person unknowingly sharing the pitch with him was Harry Potter?

--

"I saw you on the Quidditch pitch."

Harry's hand paused halfway to the bookshelf. Malfoy rarely broke the silence first. "What did you say?"

"I went out to the field and saw you flying." Malfoy's eyes were fixed on the book whose cover he was carefully realigning. "I watched from the stands."

"Oh." Harry lowered his hand, thrown off guard. "What were you doing outside at night? McGonagall said –"

"I know what McGonagall said." Malfoy tapped the spine of the book on his lap; it rebound itself noiselessly. "I don't care."

"You should. She's the reason you're still alive."

"Don't transfer the blame onto someone else, Potter."

Harry made a noise of disbelief as he checked the rest of the books on the second shelf for loose or torn bindings. "I suppose you still think I didn't do you a favour by saving your life."

Malfoy put his book back, pulled out another one. "You don't care that I was watching you?"

"Not particularly. It's not like I was practising secret Quidditch strategies. I'm more worried about your being allowed to roam the grounds freely."

"'I won't try to escape on my broom'," Malfoy quoted with a smirk.

"Right," Harry said. He found it slightly disconcerting that Malfoy had memorised what he'd said. "You heard that?"

"Is there a problem with my hearing it?"

"No, it's just that –"

"Don't bother explaining yourself." Malfoy shot Harry an appraising sort of look. "For someone who likes to snoop around in other people's business, you sure do hide a hell of a lot of things from your friends."

"They're better off not knowing everything."

"How valiant of you to try to protect them from the horrific details of your sins." Malfoy stood, brushing his robes off. "Well, that was a nice little chat. I'll be on my way, then."

"Hold your Hippogriffs." Harry waved his wand, and the book Malfoy had left on the floor flew back into its place on the shelf. "I have a few things to discuss with you first."

"Make it quick, will you? I've already seen too much of you as it is, Potter."

Harry took a deep, steadying breath. "Fine. First of all, don't ever say a word about the Weasleys again."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Because I have all the reason in the world to listen to you."

"You should know that what you said to Ron was low, even for you. Besides, you owe me."

"My life, not my courtesy," Malfoy replied coolly. "I have no remorse for what I did, Potter. On the contrary, I'd say the world should be thanking us for ridding it of two more Weasleys."

Revulsion and hatred swelled up within Harry. "'Us'? There is no 'us' anymore, Malfoy. The Death Eaters are all in Azkaban, and you were never really one of them to begin with. I can't believe you," he added, slowly and disgustedly. "It's a bit rich for you to be bragging about watching your dad's mates murder two innocent people after you couldn't even bring yourself to kill Dumbledore while he was at your mercy."

Malfoy's face visibly blanched. "How did you know?"

It took Harry a few seconds to remember that he had been immobilised behind the door. "It doesn't matter how I know. Either way, you couldn't do it. You're not a murderer at heart, no matter how much you try to convince yourself and other people."

"I suppose you're going to use that bit of information to blackmail me," Malfoy said. He arched an eyebrow, silently daring Harry to affirm this. "And here I was thinking Gryffindors were supposed to be decent, honest folk…"

"The same way you're trying to blackmail me?" Harry said, ignoring the quip. "You can tell Ron, by the way." He crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping his strategy of reverse psychology would work. "I might as well get a laugh out of watching you try to convince him."

"I don't need to rely on that particular secret of yours anymore," Malfoy said. His eyes gleamed silver for a split second before fading back to dull grey.

Somewhat nonplussed, Harry thought for a moment to ask Malfoy what he meant. Then, figuring Malfoy wouldn't tell him anyway, he decided to continue with what he had been saying before. "Second of all, I want to know more about your list."

"What's there to tell you?" Malfoy said, a guarded tone creeping into his voice. He folded his arms across his chest, as if protecting himself from Harry's questions.

Harry suddenly felt awkward. Perhaps it was too much for him to ask Malfoy about the list. After all, it was probably a personal topic…

"Why'd you write it?" he asked anyway.

Malfoy shook his head and shouldered past Harry. "Leave me _alone_, Potter. I want to go to sleep."

"Wait," Harry said, grabbing Malfoy's sleeve. "I thought maybe… well, I thought I could help you do some of those things."

Malfoy turned around. For a moment, he looked confused; then his usual mask of cold indifference slid back into place. "Seeing as your definition of assistance involves drawing my death sentence out longer, I can't say I'm too eager to accept your aid."

"Will you ever shut up about that?" Harry asked irritably. "Do you want me to lend a hand or not? Felix Felicis isn't easy to brew, you know."

"In case you don't remember, Potter, all of your achievements in Potions were brought about by Snape's book, not your own aptitude. So no, I don't need you to help me brew the potion."

Harry bit his lip. _He won't change,_ a small voice in the back of his head insisted. _You can't do anything for him. Just leave him alone._

Still, Harry refused to believe what logic deemed reality. After all, reality had deceived him countless times already; too many times, in fact, for him to trust its validity anymore.

"Well, what about any of the other things?" he asked, wincing when Malfoy shot him a disbelieving look.

"Honestly, Potter, what's wrong with you? You've helped enough by lending your lips." Malfoy tried to tug his sleeve out of Harry's grip. "I'm not going to accomplish anything if you keep detaining me after detention like this."

Frustrated, Harry let go of Malfoy. "Why do you always try to do everything on your own?"

"Oh, and you don't?" Malfoy shot back.

"The difference between you and me is that I can manage on my own and you can't! You may not realise it, but you've had someone else to do shit for you all your life, Malfoy."

Malfoy scowled. "I managed while I was working for the Dark Lord. I was a Death Eater. Death Eaters don't accept assistance from others."

Harry gave a short bark of laughter. "You'd like to think that's true, wouldn't you? Why don't you just give up and admit to yourself that you're glad you have another chance at life? You wrote up a list of things you want to do before you die; that pretty much gives you away."

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy flushed pink. "Don't think you understand how I feel."

"I don't," Harry said. "If I did, I wouldn't be wondering how the hell you can kill another human being and not feel the slightest bit guilty. But dying is something universally feared, which is why I want to help you, even if you don't deserve it."

Malfoy's lower lip trembled for an instant, and Harry felt a faint stirring of panic. Then Malfoy turned away and the panic disappeared, leaving Harry feeling annoyed, furious, and everything else he usually felt in the other boy's presence.

"Tomorrow's our last detention," Malfoy said in a low voice. "You'd better not forget about it."

_Our last detention._ The words echoed in Harry's head long after Malfoy disappeared around the corner. Of course; there was only one section left in the library for them to go through. After that, they were free of the punishment McGonagall had set.

A strange, heavy feeling settled in Harry's stomach. He stood for a moment, perplexed, trying to figure it out. It was almost… disappointment. But that didn't make sense; he was supposed to hate his detentions with Malfoy.

Harry sighed. It seemed that, as of late, he was confused more than usual. After a few minutes of quiet reflection, he turned around and left the library as well.


	9. A Realisation

**A/N:** UNBETAED.

_Yeah, I know it hurts  
Yeah, I know you're scared  
Walking down the road that leads  
To who-knows-where  
Don't you hang your head  
Don't you give up yet  
When courage starts to disappear  
I will be right here_  
- Clay Aiken, "I Will Carry You"

**Chapter 8:** A Realisation

Later that week, Draco received an owl from the Ministry. They had written to remind him he was not to join the other seventh years on their Halloween trip to Hogsmeade.

"If you disregard this warning," the letter concluded, "rest assured that the consequences will be severe."

Upon finishing the letter, Draco shrugged to himself and shoved it into his pocket. What did he care if he was allowed to go to Hogsmeade or not? It wasn't as if he had anything important to do there.

_Although it would be nice to visit Honeydukes one last time,_ he thought wistfully as he played with the scrambled eggs that had somehow found their way to his plate. Visions of Peppermint Toads and Chocolate Frogs danced in his head at the very thought of the abounding sweet shop

"Draco?" said a tentative voice behind him, and the sugar mice waltzing about in Draco's mind stumbled and disappeared.

Draco looked up to find Pansy Parkinson standing a short distance away, staring at the floor and nervously playing with her hair.

"Pansy," he acknowledged blankly.

"Hi." She lifted her gaze, smiled brightly at Draco. "Um, I just wanted to see how you were doing. We haven't had the chance to talk yet."

"Right." Draco didn't know what else to say, so he moved a little to the side, even though there was already enough room for her to sit down.

Pansy didn't seem to notice that Draco had moved aside for her. "I'm sorry about… about what happened."

"Right," Draco said again. Deciding that it would be pointless to beat around the bush with small talk, he asked bluntly, "Why are you talking to me?"

She blushed. "You looked lonely sitting here by yourself."

Draco couldn't help smiling slightly. Perhaps there were perks to Pansy's simple-mindedness.

"Also… well, everyone's saying loads of nasty stuff about you," she continued in a rush, "and I just wanted you to know that I don't believe a word of it. I still want to be friends, if that's okay."

"Right," Draco intoned for a third time.

"Great," she said, beaming. "Bye, Draco."

Draco watched her hurry back to her seat before turning his attention back to his plateful of food. Nothing looked very appetising. With a sigh, he stood up.

As his gaze swept the Great Hall, he was surprised to find Potter watching him. The moment their eyes met, Potter blinked and looked away.

Draco smirked. Potter was another simple-minded one, albeit not in the same sense as Pansy.

Draco recalled the last detention he and Potter had shared as he manoeuvred around hastily dropped bookbags. They hadn't spoken very much, and when they parted ways, Draco had felt as though something important was coming to an end. He still couldn't figure out what that something had been, and it annoyed him to no end.

It suddenly occurred to Draco that he still hadn't sent his order for ingredients to the Apothecary. He had finished his research over the weekend and had been on his way to send his order on Sunday morning when he'd come across Potter and Weasley instead.

Draco's insides squirmed as he began ascending the stairs to the Owlery. Even though he had carefully mapped out how he would obtain each ingredient, he still felt uneasy about many of the methods he'd settled on. He had no idea, for instance, where or how abundantly in the Forbidden Forest the rare Mist Lily grew. He didn't fancy wandering in there without a specific goal in mind, but it was his only option.

Draco paused now on the steps to consider the odds stacked up against his completing the potion. They were daunting, but he knew he couldn't give up yet. After all, once a Malfoy set his mind to something, the chances of him quitting halfway through were slim to none. As long as Draco had the items from the Apothecary, he could start brewing the potion and worry about the harder-to-obtain ingredients later.

Slightly reassured by this thought, Draco resumed his stride.

--

Halloween dawned cloudy and cold. The day was, most conveniently, a Saturday, which meant the seventh years had the entire day to spend at Hogsmeade.

Harry supposed he was looking forward to the trip, though not as much as he used to. It would be nice to see Madam Rosmerta and all the other smiling faces he was sure to find there, but he didn't have much of a reason for going. Other than pleasing Ron and Hermione, that was.

"They just reopened Zonko's yesterday," Ron said to Harry as they dressed for the chilly weather that morning in their dormitory. "I s'pose it's worth having a shufti inside, right?"

"Right," Harry agreed, although he didn't really care either way. It was painfully evident that Ron was trying to be perky and optimistic about going to Hogsmeade for Harry's sake.

"Ready?" Ron asked after a few minutes.

Harry finished knotting his scarf and nodded. "Yeah."

They went downstairs and joined up with Hermione, who was waiting for them at the foot of the steps.

"It'll be nice to have a day to ourselves," she said, as if trying to convince Harry that he had made the right choice in going on the trip. "I heard almost all the stores are back up and running. And Lupin told me that he and Tonks might be at the Three Broomsticks later, so maybe we can meet up with them."

"Great," Harry said, brightening up slightly at the mention of Lupin and Tonks. "Let's go."

The three of them joined up with Dean as they made their way out of the Gryffindor common room. Dean was looking somewhat gloomier than usual, most likely due to Seamus' absence. The two of them had spent much of the previous year planning what they would do on this very trip.

The hallway outside the common room was filled with students. Seventh years heading for Hogsmeade chatted animatedly while their younger peers strolled about unhurriedly, enjoying their day off. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Dean joined up with a few Ravenclaw seventh years as they made their way down to the Entrance Hall.

While Hermione and Terry Boot debated the proper way to brew Ageing Potion and Ron and Dean discussed the National Quidditch Association's plans to renovate the league, Harry's attention wandered to his surroundings. They were walking down the narrow third floor hallway that connected the staircases leading to the Gryffindor Tower and the Entrance Hall. Harry noticed the statue of the one-eyed, humpbacked witch up ahead and smiled almost fondly. It had been a while since he last used it…

Just as he was about to look away, a flash of movement caught his eye. He did a double take. Was it just his imagination, or had he seen a wisp of pale blond hair disappear behind the statue?

His curiosity piqued, Harry halted in his tracks. "I'll catch up with you guys later. I think I forgot something back in the dorm."

"Okay," Hermione said. She smiled briefly at Harry before returning to her and Terry's discussion.

Harry waited until his friends were out of sight before turning to the statue. Before he could approach it, however, Draco Malfoy stepped out from behind it with a sigh of resignation. He held his wand in one hand and a folded sheet of parchment in the other.

"The stalking really needs to end, Potter."

Harry's eyebrows flew to his hairline in genuine surprise. "Fancy meeting you here of all places, Malfoy."

"I'm banned from going on the Hogsmeade trip," Malfoy said arily.

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure whether to smirk or feel sorry for Malfoy. "Um… okay."

"Yes." Malfoy pointed his wand in the direction Harry had been heading. "You can leave now."

Harry ignored Malfoy. "What's your being banned from Hogsmeade got to do with this statue?"

Now it was Malfoy's turn to raise his eyebrows. "If you don't know already, there's no point explaining it to you."

Realisation struck Harry, and a little "Oh!" escaped his lips. He felt rather stupid for not seeing it earlier. "You're trying to figure out how to open the passageway to Honeydukes, aren't you?"

"So it leads to Honeydukes?" Malfoy looked thoughtful. "Even better."

"Well, you're not going to find out on your own," Harry said, turning to leave. Strangely enough, he wasn't the least bit curious as to how Malfoy knew about the passageway. "Have fun puzzling over it, though."

"Wait, Potter."

In spite of the voice in his head urging him to keep walking away, Harry turned around. "What?"

A pained expression settled on Malfoy's face, making it look as if he'd swallowed a large amount of Skele-Gro. In an aggrieved tone, he said, "You know the password, don't you?"

"Yeah." Harry cocked his head, lips curving into a grin. "But my assistance won't come without a price."

"Since when? You were more than keen to help me just a few days ago!"

"With accomplishing the tasks on your list, not sneaking out of the school," Harry pointed out. His grin widened. He was rather enjoying himself. "So what'll it be? You already know what I want from you."

"I refuse to be kind to Weasley," Malfoy snapped, but there was a glimmer of uncertainty in the depths of his glare.

Harry shrugged. "Fine. See you later, Malfoy."

He had barely taken two steps before Malfoy stopped him again.

"You promise it'll go all the way to Honeydukes?"

Triumphant, Harry turned back around and nodded. "And you swear to leave off taunting Ron?"

Malfoy glowered like a sulky toddler being told he was forbidden from going near the cookie jar. "Yes."

"And you'll apologise for everything you've done?" Harry added quickly.

"That wasn't part of the deal, Potter."

"It's either you agree to it or I don't help you."

"_Fine._"

"Do you mean it?"

"No."

Harry sighed. "Malfoy…"

"All right, I mean it! Just give me the sodding password, you twat!"

Harry knew Malfoy was lying – since when did Slytherins apologise for anything? – but he walked over to the one-eyed witch anyway, forgetting entirely that Ron and Hermione were waiting for him outside. Aggravating Malfoy was just too entertaining to pass up.

"Shift over," he ordered, nudging Malfoy aside as he stepped behind the statue. It was a tight fit, and Malfoy was most unceremoniously thrust against the stone wall as Harry pulled his wand out to open the passageway.

"If you're lying about this, I'll kill you," Malfoy threatened as he struggled to push Harry's elbow out of his face.

"Considering _Avada Kedavra_ is no longer on your list of usable spells, that might be a little difficult," Harry shot back, deliberately stepping backwards so that the little space Malfoy had was further reduced. Then he frowned, remembering something else. "Aren't they tracking your wand?"

Before replying, Malfoy placed two palms squarely on Harry's back and forcibly shoved him away. "Yes," he answered, sounding very disgruntled, "but I've already dealt with that particular impediment."

"Oh?"

"I got around the charm McGonagall placed on it."

Harry scoffed. "None of your rubbish spells can interfere with her magic, Malfoy."

"Why don't you worry about opening this damned statue before Christmas arrives and leave the problem of concealing my whereabouts to me, Potter? Because as much as I love being pinned to the wall like this, breathing is also nice…"

Realising that Malfoy was right and that space constraints made continuing their argument more impractical than productive, Harry clenched his teeth and quickly tapped the statue, saying, "_Dissendium!_"

The witch's hump slid away, revealing a hole wide enough to admit one person. Harry placed his hands on either side of the opening, nimbly lifted himself up, and allowed his body to fall freely down the tunnel. He landed rather suddenly on damp earth. Wincing, he got to his feet and dusted off his bottom.

"You can come down now," he called up to Malfoy. His voice echoed eerily as it travelled up the length of the tunnel.

There was a soft _thump_ as Malfoy slid down the passageway and gracefully landed on his feet. He brushed the dirt off his sleeves and looked around.

"My God, it's disgusting down here." Malfoy wordlessly lit his wand, momentarily blinding Harry. "Then again, one can't really expect anything better from a passageway _you_ commonly travel…"

"You could try for a bit of consideration," Harry said, taking in Malfoy's uncharacteristically tousled appearance with some satisfaction.

"_Me_?" By the light of Malfoy's wand, Harry could see he wore a very indignant and insulted expression. "I was the one who had every possible personal space boundary crossed, and yet _I'm_ the one who wasn't considerate enough?"

"You're never considerate enough. And I meant that it's not your place to complain about a little discomfort when I'm the one wasting my time helping you get to Hogsmeade."

"Whatever," Malfoy muttered. "If I suffer any lasting damage from being slammed against that wall, the first thing I'll do is file suit against you."

"I'm shaking in my boots," Harry replied. "For some reason, though, I don't reckon going to court against me will work out so nicely for you."

Malfoy frowned. "Can we get going?"

"Actually," Harry said casually, "there's no 'we' involved in this. I was planning to send you down the tunnel by yourself."

Malfoy's eyes widened in alarm. "What? You can't leave me down here, Potter!"

Arching an eyebrow, Harry said coolly, "Scared, Malfoy?"

"Not a chance," Malfoy snapped. The blush that coloured his pale cheeks suggested otherwise. Nevertheless, he squared his shoulders and said levelly, "Fine. Don't come. I'd prefer you didn't, anyway."

"Brilliant. It works out for both of us, then." When Malfoy didn't respond, Harry added pointedly, "Feel free to get going any time in the next decade or two."

Harry watched until the bobbing glow of Malfoy's wand disappeared down the pitch-black recesses of the tunnel. Then, lighting his own wand, he set off after the other boy. He couldn't have Malfoy getting lost and eventually wasting away underground.

After all, if Malfoy was going to die, Harry wanted to be there every step of the way.

--

Draco wasn't stupid. He knew, as he turned an earthy corner into Merlin-knew-where, that Potter had been following him for the past twenty minutes.

At first he'd been tempted to reveal that he was perfectly aware of Potter's stubborn presence. Then, as the unfamiliar darkness all around him grew more and more oppressive, he had realised that he needed Potter there more than Potter needed to be there, because he had absolutely no idea how to get to his destination.

In other words, as much as he hated to admit it, Draco was as good as dead if Potter left him on his own.

As Draco wandered around blindly with the weight of this distressing thought on his shoulders, he began mentally replaying the last half-hour, starting with Potter's discovery of his attempts to uncover the secret passageway to Hogsmeade. Draco had known it was there, because Snape had revealed the location to him after he discovered Potter climbing out of the witch's hump in Draco's third year. He had not, however, told Draco how the secret passageway worked, and thus Draco had been on the verge of giving up hope that he would ever get to Hogsmeade and buy the potion ingredients he needed there when Potter showed up and offered to help.

But why? Why had Potter aided Draco in sneaking out of school when he was more determined than anyone else to keep Draco from escaping the castle's confines?

Draco suspected Potter had something up his sleeve, but he didn't strain himself trying to figure out what; Potter's logic was a strange and dangerous thing. Draco was, however, sure of one thing: he had no intention of keeping his promise to refrain from insulting Weasley. As a Malfoy, he was bound by honour to his word – just not when it came to Harry Potter. Malfoys _never_ made deals with Gryffindors, and even when they did, they most certainly did _not_ follow through with them.

Draco sighed inaudibly as he imagined how pleased those words would have made his father if he'd been alive to hear them. "Very good, Draco," he would've said with an approving nod, and Draco would have glowed with pride, because all he'd ever really wanted was to live up to his father's high standards. Unfortunately, he'd never got the chance to prove himself, what with the sudden termination of Lucius' life and the equally abrupt outbreak of the second war.

For a long time, the only sounds Draco heard were the silent padding of his trainers on the moist dirt and the eerie dripping of water coming from somewhere further down the passageway. He wondered how much time had elapsed since he'd started off down the tunnel and why Potter wasn't speaking up. Wasn't he the least bit concerned about getting back to Weasley and Granger before they grew suspicious of his whereabouts?

Draco frowned. Up until that moment, he hadn't really given much thought to the strangeness of Potter's sudden estrangement from his friends. He had seen Weasley and Granger hovering anxiously around Potter like two overprotective parents unable to accept being cast aside by their adolescent son, but hadn't bothered to pause and consider how odd it was that Potter was trying to distance himself in the first place. Draco would have thought that with the end of the war, Potter wouldn't have waited a millisecond to leap back into the arms of his loved ones like the disgustingly dependent fool he was.

Draco's mind flashed back to the train ride to Hogwarts, and then to the night of their unheralded meeting in the library. That disconcerting emptiness in Potter's eyes… and the sudden emotional breakdown he'd had when Draco had mentioned his failure to live up to his title… What exactly had _happened_ to Potter? He was confused; there was no doubt about it. It was as though he didn't know what to do with himself, and thus had to resort to acting like a wretched man who had lost his world when really, he hadn't.

Draco didn't buy this act. Save for one or two moments, he had seen no solid evidence of real pain in Potter's behaviour. Indeed, Potter was the same person he'd always been – except for the part where he seemed to be convinced he was traumatised beyond repair.

It annoyed Draco, really, that Potter was selfish enough to think he was so tortured that he had the right to act like a sulky four-year-old. The only way to determine the cause of Potter's emotional confusion, Draco realised, was to find out what had happened the night Voldemort was defeated – the only detail of the war that remained to be cleared up. Draco made a mental note to wheedle the whole story out of Potter one day.

For the moment, though, he had to concentrate on getting those ingredients. And in order to do that, he needed Potter's help.

"Potter," he said, stopping and turning around. His voice echoed off the walls of the tunnel eerily. "I know you're there, so you can stop skulking about in the shadows."

There was a long pause, and then Draco heard Potter say, most unhelpfully, "You're going the wrong way."

"You could've told me that fifteen minutes ago!"

"But that would've taken away the fun of watching you wander around without a clue." Potter's voice was drawing nearer. "In any case, who says I'm willing to lead you to Honeydukes?"

"We made a deal, Potter, and you said –"

"That I'd give you the password, not take you where you want to go." Potter walked into Draco's wandlight, his own wand lit and pointed at the ground. His eyes darted from Draco's outraged expression to his muddy robes, but he commented on neither.

Draco shook his head. He should have known. It was just like Potter to pull something like that.

"Fine," Draco said in a hard voice, turning away.

There was another pause, and for one terrifying moment, Draco thought Potter was serious about leaving him to find his way to Honeydukes on his own. Then, softly, Potter asked, "How does it feel?"

"How does what feel?" Draco snapped. "How does it feel to want to curse every bone in your body and leave you writhing in pain, but not be able to because that'd leave me alone in a dark underground tunnel without an idea of my whereabouts? It feels fantastic, Potter. Just fantastic."

"No, Malfoy." Potter moved closer, keeping his gaze fixed on Draco's face. "How does it feel to be helpless?"

_Helpless._ The word resounded in Draco's head, leaving an imprint of itself in every corner of his mind. Draco inhaled sharply, fighting the rising panic in his chest. Helpless. But he wasn't… he couldn't…

An eccentric smile twisted the corners of Potter's lips. "The Weasleys must've felt the same just before they died, huh? The terror on their faces just before Bellatrix finished them off must've looked something like the terror on yours right now, don't you think?"

"There's something wrong with you, Potter. I swear, you're –"

"I'm what, Malfoy?"

"You're mad!"

Potter narrowed his eyes. "No, I'm not. I'm trying to make you understand. You may not have played a direct part in the murder, but it tortures me every day, knowing that Ron's mum and dad are dead. _Every day_, you hear? They were the only remotely parent-like figures I had left, and because of your lot, they were taken away from me. From me, and from Ron and Ginny and the rest of their family. The rest of their _living_ family. _How do you think that fucking feels?_"

Spurred on by Potter's fury, Draco took a step forward, his own anger blotting out everything in his field of vision except for those hateful green eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, my father is dead and my mother is in Azkaban! The rest of the Slytherins are going through hell, and – surprise, surprise – half the students in this school don't have families either! Do you see any of them whining and blaming everyone else for all the shit they're going through? No, you don't! So tell me, Potter, _why are you the only one allowed to suffer?_"

--

By the time Malfoy finished his rant, he was panting, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were nearly translucent. Harry, on the other hand, was so astonished that his anger began ebbing away. He opened his mouth to tell Malfoy to calm down, but it seemed Malfoy wasn't done yet, because he spoke up again before Harry could get a word out.

"You really want to believe you're miserable, don't you?" Malfoy snarled. He made a noise of disgust, deep in his throat. "You mope around and push everyone away, claiming no one can help you and all that other bullshit, but in the end, you're every bit the attention whore the Ministry made you out to be before the war, because you're _not_ miserable! You're not depressed! _You're lying to your fucking self!_"

"Malfoy –"

"I'M NOT DONE, POTTER!"

"WELL, I AM!"

The silence that ensued rang in Harry's ears, somehow louder than the shouting that had just filled the dark tunnel. Harry dug the heel of his palm into his forehead, willing his headache to go away. He hadn't expected Malfoy to retaliate so strongly. He wasn't angry, though. Malfoy's words hadn't offended or incensed him at all. On the contrary, he felt a sort of grim acknowledgment, as though hearing Malfoy say what Ginny and Ron and Hermione had been saying all along was what he had needed to accept it as truth.

_Maybe I just felt the need to make something more out of the war,_ Harry suddenly realised. _All of this… maybe it's just because I can't accept that it's all over and everyone's happy… maybe I really am just trying to generate misery out of nothing so that no one will forget what happened._

He drew in a tremulous breath, and was instantly overcome by a powerful wave of hot shame. Instinctively, he turned away from Malfoy, mortified.

He was a moron. The lowest kind, too. He had made Ron, Hermione, and Ginny worry about him every second of the last few weeks, when all he'd been doing was blaming the rest of the world for his discontent. So what if solid shadows of Death Eaters and darkness still lurked at the edges of his dreams at night, and he woke up some mornings feeling like he'd just received the Dementor's Kiss? So what if he couldn't bring himself to forget the agony that had torn his soul into a million shards of pain the night he destroyed Voldemort, and could still clearly picture Mr and Mrs Weasley's blood-stained, lifeless bodies lying in the mud every time their names were brought up? Malfoy was right: Harry _wasn't_ the only one tormented by those memories, and yet he was the only one letting them stop him from moving on. Perhaps he really _was_ weak, after all.

_Malfoy's made a living out of locating people's weak spots. He knows exactly what to say when it comes to hurting you, Harry._

Hermione's words, as clear and logical as ever, made their way into Harry consciousness. Of course she was right; she was always right. Harry was perfectly aware that Malfoy was trying to provoke him. But at the same time, he also knew there was a grain – no, more like a boulder – of truth in Malfoy's accusations. How could he not have seen it earlier? He'd wanted the war to mean something, but he had been hypocritical, had tried to be the one thing he hated the most: the centre of attention. Incredibly enough, now that Malfoy, with his wonderfully frank bitterness, had made all of that so undeniably clear, Harry almost felt giddy with relief.

"Do you finally get it, Potter?"

Harry didn't say anything. He did note, however, that there was no sneer, no hint of smugness in Malfoy's voice for once. He sounded serious, as though he truly wanted to help Harry understand. Taken aback, Harry stored this small detail in the back of his mind for later contemplation before taking a deep breath and turning to face Malfoy.

_Don't lose your composure, Harry; don't let him think he's won,_ he urged himself, as he raised his eyes to meet Malfoy's. The words Snape had spat at him during those hateful Occlumency lessons in fifth year came back to him in a rush. _Clear your mind, Potter… Empty yourself of emotion…_

"Why do you defend the Slytherins when they won't stand behind you?"

Malfoy blinked. As if on instinct, his hand came up to grip his left forearm tightly. He opened his mouth, but closed it promptly and seemed to deliberate for a moment before finally answering. "Because they're my housemates. I swore loyalty to them when I sat down at their table for the first time."

"I don't believe that," Harry replied immediately. He slouched against the muddy wall of the tunnel, not caring that his robes were already in a state that would have given Aunt Petunia cause to commit suicide. "I don't believe you'd do something like that. If you were a real Slytherin, you'd put your own needs before theirs."

"Don't you dare think for one second that you understand what it's like to be a Slytherin!"

"I know far more than you think I do," Harry snapped. He closed his eyes briefly, remembering the words the Sorting Hat had whispered into his ear during the Sorting Ceremony so many years ago, and then shook his head. He couldn't tell Malfoy about _that_. Not even Ron and Hermione knew. "I just… never mind. Let's go. I'll take you to Hogsmeade."

Malfoy, however, didn't move. "Give me reason to trust you."

Harry nearly choked on his disbelief. How could one person possibly be so obstinate? "Do you have any other alternatives?"

Malfoy met Harry's gaze defiantly. "I'd rather die down here than be fooled by you again, Potter."

There it was again – the unnerving fear. It was even more evident in Malfoy's cool grey irises now than it had been at Diagon Alley. Perhaps, Harry thought, this was because each passing day brought Malfoy closer to the date of his death. The moment this thought arose, he felt a flicker of guilt lick at his conscience. He quickly smothered it.

"You're an idiot if you reckon you can get to Hogsmeade by yourself."

Malfoy dug his trainers into the moist earth like a stubborn puppy. "Go back to your friends. I don't need you. I don't need anyone."

"No," Harry said. "I'm not going to let you stay down here. You could die or, even worse, find your way out and escape."

"Did you not hear what I said?"

"I heard it, loud and clear. I'd be an even bigger idiot than you, though, if I listened to someone who thinks _I_ owe _him_ for saving his life."

Malfoy stared at Harry for a long moment. Then, in an uncharacteristically small voice: "You're seriously willing to take me there?"

Harry frowned. "Well… yeah. I brought you down here, so why not bring you back up?"

"I just had a go at you."

"Well, you were telling –" Harry stopped. He had nearly said "the truth". Luckily, he caught himself in time. "Your insults don't really mean anything to me."

Malfoy shot him a "don't kid yourself, Potter" glare. "You can still turn me in to McGonagall for leaving the grounds, you know."

"And land myself in detention for being the one who made it possible? Sorry, but I rather prefer the option of getting you to Hogsmeade and back to the castle before McGonagall finds out you're gone."

"Then why not tell them you caught me trying to escape? They'd probably give you some rubbish award for special services to the school or something…"

"Because unlike you, Malfoy, I don't lie solely for the purpose of benefiting myself," Harry said impatiently. Malfoy's unhelpful attitude was beginning to irritate him. Didn't he care at all that Harry had put aside everything to help him?

The corners of Malfoy's mouth turned down in confusion. "You had no reason to help me, then."

"Yeah I did. I got what I wanted, didn't I? You're going to apologise to Ron."

Malfoy looked torn between laughter and incredulity. "You're an idiot, Potter."

"Probably," Harry said softly, picking up on the implied meaning behind Malfoy's statement. He was still too mortified over the realisation he'd had following Malfoy's earlier tirade to muster up the energy to argue. "I'll let you decide for yourself what you want to do, though. For now, I just want to get out of here."

Malfoy lowered his head, and for one split second, the shadows cast by the mixed light of his and Harry's wands softened his features and made him appear almost vulnerable. Then he looked back up at Harry, destroying the strange lighting effect, and all the rage that had brought life to his grey eyes earlier while he was ranting and raving at Harry was gone. It was like he had given up hope and resigned himself to the fact that he had no choice but to be saved by Harry.

"Lead the way," he said dully.

--

Harry and Malfoy made it safely to Honeydukes, despite Harry's incomplete memory of the labyrinth of underground passages. Even though Harry hadn't brought his Invisibility Cloak, he managed to sneak Malfoy through the cellar, up into the sweetshop, and out the door onto the busy streets.

"Merlin, I don't even want to know how filthy I am right now," Malfoy muttered after taking one look at Harry's grime-covered robes in bright daylight and promptly looking away in disgust.

Harry raised his eyebrows as he took in Malfoy's dirty, rumpled appearance. "Well, it's not any worse than you looked at the trial, if that makes you feel any better."

"No, Potter, it doesn't," Malfoy snapped. He gazed around at his surroundings like a child visiting an amusement park for the first time, and a small, barely noticeable smile ghosted across his lips. "This place hasn't changed at all."

"Yeah," Harry said, slightly taken aback by the almost-smile. He would have commented on it, but at that moment, it occurred to him that Ron and Hermione still didn't know where he was.

Running a hand through his mud-streaked hair, Harry furiously and silently debated between following Malfoy to make sure he didn't do anything dangerous and leaving Malfoy to find Ron and Hermione and apologise. Just as he was beginning to regret making the decision to sneak Malfoy into Hogsmeade, an idea so obvious that he nearly laughed out loud hit him.

Harry pulled out his wand, pointed it at the ground, and sent a messenger Patronus to Ron and Hermione. _Tell them I'm fine and that they should go on without me… Something came up and I've got to deal with it, but I'll meet them back at the castle after the trip,_ he silently told it as he watched it streak down the street, a flash of silver in the afternoon sun.

"What was that?"

Harry started at the sound of Malfoy's voice. "What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Potter." Malfoy looked very annoyed now. "Was that a Patronus?"

"Um…" Harry frantically grappled to think of a believable lie. Was he allowed to explain what it was? The war was over, so there really wasn't any need for secrecy anymore, but it wouldn't feel right if he revealed the purpose of the messenger Patronuses to _Malfoy_. "It's…"

"No need to get your knickers in a twist over it," Malfoy sneered. "I'm not stupid. We used them, too."

"Did you?" Harry asked, mildly surprised that the two sides had had something in common.

Malfoy didn't reply to Harry's question. He had already begun walking away.

"Where d'you think you're going?" Harry demanded, running to catch up with Malfoy. Along the way, he accidentally bumped into a young witch whose eyes immediately darted up to stare at his scar the moment she realised who he was.

"Dagworth's," Malfoy replied once Harry had apologised profusely to the witch and hurried over to him. He was referring to the only Potions store in Hogsmeade.

"Why?"

"Are you stupid, Potter? Why do you _think_?"

"I meant, why do you so desperately need to go to _this_ shop? Why not the apothecary at Diagon Alley?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It's a good thing you had Snape's old book last year, because you wouldn't have survived the first day of Potions without it. Anyone with half a brain knows the Diagon Alley apothecary specialises in creature-based ingredients, whereas this one sells only herbal and plant-based ingredients."

"Well, sorry I don't have a Potions encyclopaedia stored in my head," Harry said crossly. "And I'd really appreciate it if you were a little more civil, Malfoy, considering I've ditched Ron and Hermione to –"

"You made that choice on your own. I neither asked nor want you to follow me around all day."

"Yeah, well, I can't leave you here alone. You'll have a lot of explaining to do if you get caught."

Malfoy finally stopped in his tracks. "You really are something, Potter. You convince the Wizengamot to give me my freedom back, and then impede on it yourself by refusing to let me out of your sight and interfering with my business. On top of that, you deliberately sneak me into Hogsmeade, but the moment we arrive here, you blame me for taking up your precious time with your dear friends – even though _you're_ the one who made the decision to give it up."

Harry flushed, again struck by the truth of Malfoy's words. "Well, I'm not the only one," he shot back. "You claim you hate me, but you didn't give me away when you saw me in the clearing that night. You still haven't told me why you didn't, by the way."

Malfoy gave him an odd look. "You never asked."

Blinking, Harry realised that Malfoy was right – _again_. He had been so caught up in the fact that Malfoy had done it that he hadn't bothered to wonder why. "Erm… so why –"

He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed that Malfoy had disappeared. He was all set to panic when he saw that the door he had just passed was swinging closed. On it hung a scratched sign that read "Dagworth's Apothecary".

"Of course," Harry muttered to himself, slipping past the door just before it swung shut.

Harry had never been inside this particular shop (it was located near the back of Hogsmeade, an area he rarely visited), so he was surprised to find it wasn't at all like the musty, cramped Apothecary in Diagon Alley. In fact, it looked more like one of the Hogwarts greenhouses than anything else.

Intrigued, Harry began walking around the store, examining the magical and non-magical plants growing seemingly everywhere. He saw what looked curiously like a pink balloon covered in soft fuzz and reached out to touch it. Before his fingers could make contact, however, someone's hand grabbed his wrist and yanked it away.

It was Malfoy. "Don't touch that!" he said furiously, releasing Harry's wrist when Harry looked at him in surprise.

"What is it?"

"It's a Fallopod. The fuzz that covers it – it looks soft, but if you touch it, it'll burrow into your skin and poison you."

"Oh," Harry said faintly, taking a few steps away from the plant. _He could have let me touch it, but he didn't._ "Um… thanks. I guess this means you've saved someone from the edge of death now, huh?"

"Don't be daft," Malfoy snapped. "The poison isn't fatal; it just causes severe pain. Not that you wouldn't deserve it," he added in an undertone.

"They should keep warnings around these things," Harry said grouchily, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well, thanks anyway, Malfoy."

"Don't count on it happening again, Potter." Malfoy was already walking away to go look for more ingredients. "I only did it because I'd rather not be troubled with the task of carrying your twitching body back to Hogwarts."

"Yeah, that's it," Harry muttered under his breath. He turned away from the Fallopod and resumed his exploration of the shop, this time making sure to keep a good distance from plants he didn't know.

After a while, Malfoy returned to Harry. He carred a small cardboard box and looked very pleased with himself. "Can we go?"

Harry blinked, surprised that Malfoy had even bothered to ask him. "Yeah, sure."

They left the shop. Had Harry been paying attention, he would have noticed that his step was noticeably lighter than it had been for a long time. As it was, he was only vaguely conscious of the feeling that a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and even less aware that it was due to Malfoy's earlier accusations.

"What did you buy?" Harry asked as they made their way back to Honeydukes.

"None of your business."

_How did I know he was going to say that?_ Harry thought, barely suppressing an eye roll.

"Harry – Harry Potter?"

Harry stopped in his tracks upon being addressed. "Eh?" he said, turning his head in the direction of the voice.

A tall witch with flyaway brown hair and spangled robes stood in the doorway of the Hog's Head. She eagerly extended a hand. "Ninette Lawley. I'm from a small magazine publication. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter!"

"Er… hi," Harry said, somewhat taken aback. He shook Lawley's hand, shooting a quick glance at Malfoy as he did so. The other boy looked very irritated at the interruption.

"If you would, Mr Potter, I've got a few questions I'd like to ask you…"

"You're a reporter?" Harry asked, alarmed. His experience with Rita Skeeter had taught him to always be on his guard around reporters. "Sorry, but I can't –"

"Oh, nonsense!" Lawley gushed, grabbing Harry's arm and attempting to tug him inside the pub with one hand while rummaging in her pockets for a notepad and a quill with the other. "It'll only take a quick minute, so if you would be so kind as to –"

"Sod off, you ugly cow. He's with me, and we're leaving."

One baffling moment later, Harry felt Malfoy's hand grab a handful of his robes and pull him away from the reporter. He stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over the hem of his robes before he regained his balance.

"Now wait here just a second," Lawly protested, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the person who'd just rudely cut her off, "who are you and what –?"

"No one!" Harry interrupted. "He's no one! He's a – er – classmate. At Hogwarts. Very brilliant student, top of the class…" Harry stepped to the side, effectively blocking Malfoy from view – for he had just realised that if Malfoy was recognised on the streets of Hogsmeade, he'd have worse things than annoying reporters badgering him with war-related questions to deal with.

"Potter –"

"Shut _up_, Malfoy," Harry hissed out of the corner of his mouth. He babbled a quick apology to Ninette Lawley, seized Malfoy's sleeve, and took off down the street, dodging students and shoppers and everyone else in his way. Ignoring Malfoy's angry protests, Harry ran until they reached Honeydukes. Even then, he didn't pause to catch his breath until they had found a way down into the cellar and back into the secret passageway.

Malfoy blew up the moment they were alone. "What the _hell_ was that all about, Potter? You would've had to be blind to miss the sight of us running down the street! Are you mad?"

"No – but you – are," Harry choked out between gasps for air. "You're lucky that reporter – didn't recognise you –"

All the blood instantly drained from Malfoy's face. "Fuck," he swore. "_Fuck._ She can't have –"

"Finally got it, have you? You can bet your last Galleon she would've if you'd stuck around and rambled a bit more!"

Malfoy looked quite shaken by this revelation, as if finally realising how much he had just risked by mindlessly ploughing ahead with his plan. "It would've been all over the news," he said hollowly. "The Ministry would've taken me back to Azkaban without a moment's hesitation."

Harry winced at the tremble in Malfoy's voice, unable to bring himself to retort with a sarcastic comment about Malfoy's grasp of the obvious. Until that moment, it hadn't occurred to him that Malfoy might actually be grateful for his second chance at life.

Malfoy glared accusingly at Harry. "You should've lent me your cloak!"

So much for feeling sorry for Malfoy. "Don't try to lay the blame on me," Harry snapped. "I was roped into this; you're the one who should've considered the repercussions of your actions beforehand."

If looks could kill, Harry would have dropped dead at that very moment, because the venom in Malfoy's glare was unmistakable. Harry, however, was accustomed to receiving such looks; he managed to overcome his initial discomfort at being pinned with such an unpleasant look and simply shook his head.

"Forget it," he said. With a flick of his wrist and a muttered "_Lumos!_", he lit his wand. "You were bloody lucky, Malfoy. Remember that next time you decide to risk everything for some potion." He paused before adding, "And if you ever even consider pulling something like this again, you damn well better leave me out of it."

As Harry set off down the dark tunnel, he could have sworn he heard Malfoy sigh behind him, "Easier said than done."

--

"Harry, are you absolutely positive you're feeling okay?"

_No, not really,_ Harry thought, wincing inwardly. "Don't worry, I'm fine. Sorry I couldn't come, though. I hope you didn't wait too long for me."

"We figured something came up," Ron said with a shrug. He grinned at Harry. "Something always does."

"Yeah, tell me about it," said Harry, chuckling weakly. He paused, remembering Malfoy's words, and then blurted out, "I'm sorry."

Ron paused in the process of taking the Honeydukes sweets he had bought out of the pockets of his robe. "What for?"

Harry looked at the floor. "For being so difficult. I realised today… not everything that's happened to me is so horrible. I've been purposely making myself miserable."

"Oh, Harry, that's not true!" Hermione exclaimed, but she looked considerably cheered by Harry's apology. "You _have_ been through loads of terrible things, things we can't even begin to imagine. It's all right for you to suffer; you have the right to. We just don't want you to hurt any more than you already do."

Ron nodded emphatically. "But it's good that you've realised it. I mean… we're all hurting right now. George, Bill, Ginny, even Percy... they really miss Mum and Dad, and of course Fred and Charlie too." He sighed and picked at the wrapping around a Chocolate Frog. "We're trying to forget and move on, though. Everyone is."

_But not everyone fought Voldemort!_ a small voice in Harry's head protested. Harry squashed it. "Thanks."

"Should we head down to the Great Hall, then? The Halloween Feast is about to start." Hermione directed a knowing smile at Harry. "Ginny should be there by now."

"Great," Harry said, feeling slightly cheered by the prospect of seeing Ginny. "Let's go, then."

With lightened hearts, the three friends departed the Gryffindor common room and headed for their last Halloween Feast at Hogwarts.

**A/N:** Harry's whole "No one! He's no one!" response to the reporter was modelled off of the immortal words of Captain Jack Sparrow: "No one. He's no one. Distant cousin of my Aunt's nephew twice removed. Lovely singing voice. Eunuch." Yes, I confess… I'm an enormous Pirates fan.


	10. An Angel

**A/N:** Thanks to Christine for her beta services! Sorry for the delay... I'm currently in the process of finding a temporary beta to replace Emily while she's busy. Also, this chapter does NOT contain DH spoilers (they won't start until chapter 14).

_Over your head  
Trying not to drown  
Reaching for a breath  
Before it drags you down  
Caught in between  
All the pain you feel  
You lost control  
You're letting go  
But I never will_

- Nick Lachey, "Run To Me"

**Chapter 9:** An Angel

The days grew colder. Whenever they had free time, Harry, Ron, and Ginny went out to the deserted Quidditch field and played. Sometimes Dean would join them, but for the most part, everyone was too busy recovering from the damage the war had dealt to occupy themselves with something as trivial as Quidditch. For Harry, however, flying _was_ his way of soothing the nightmares that wracked his sleep and the throbbing emptiness he couldn't ignore, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he was making it up.

Sometimes, he found himself searching the field below, wondering if Malfoy was secretly watching him. This annoyed him, both because he knew that the chances were highly unlikely and because it distracted him to the point where he was flying into goalposts and balls. Once, he even nearly collided with Ron while his eyes were busy scouring the empty stands.

To Harry's relief, however, Ron hadn't questioned him about the incident. Indeed, it seemed that Ron and Hermione (who, true to her word, hadn't told Ron the truth about Malfoy's trial, even though Ron's vehement denials of Harry's participation every time another student brought up the subject were making it increasingly harder for Harry to reconcile his guilt over the matter) weren't really questioning him about his life very much at all, most likely on the assumption that he would come around and tell them on his own time. They continued to act cheerful around him, but Harry knew that some of it was just pretence: in sleep, Ron frequently muttered the names of his murdered siblings in haunted tones; and more than once Harry had caught tears welling up in Hermione's eyes while she hid her face behind a book.

Even though it pained Harry to see his friends trying so hard to keep him in the dark about their true feelings, he couldn't do anything about it. He _felt_ better, like he was nearly back to his old self, and he tried his best to project that in public now, but he still found it difficult to be around others. He rarely saw Malfoy, except at meals, and even then, he only had time to note that Malfoy was looking decidedly healthier before he had to hurry off to classes. Sometimes he visited Lupin, but those visits were usually short and unsatisfying. His only source of comfort came from the rare moments he had to spend with Ginny. Otherwise, he continued to yearn secretly for something to fill in the void inside of him, something he wasn't even sure he would ever find.

---

The first snow of the season arrived on the twentieth of November. Harry and Hermione were walking back to the common room from their last class of the day, Defence Against the Dark Arts, when someone in the hallway exclaimed, "Blimey, look outside!"

Every head in the corridor turned to the windows. Thick snowflakes were drifting down from the sky, blurring the view of the lake and turning everything greyish-white.

"Ooh, it's beautiful!" Hermione exclaimed, running over to the window to get a better look. "Look, Harry, there must be at least ten centimetres already!"

Harry couldn't help laughing at Hermione's excitement. "I didn't even notice it'd started snowing. C'mon, Hermione, let's go… It's going to take me all night to finish McGonagall's essay…"

They resumed their path. As they began ascending the staircases, Hermione said wistfully, "It's a shame we've got so much to do now that we're N.E.W.T. students. I mean, it would be nice to go outside and play around in the snow right now like we did as children."

"I never did that," Harry responded, shrugging his shoulders. "When Dudley went out to build snowmen or have snowball fights with the neighbours, I had to stay inside and clean."

"That's awful," said Hermione indignantly, wrinkling her nose. "I'm so glad you don't need to go back to that place anymore. Have you thought about what you're going to do once you get out of school?"

"Become an Auror, I guess. I don't know. I'm working on getting over the past before I move onto the future." Harry stared at the pair of shoes climbing the stairs in front of him. They flashed a brilliant shade of gold every time the student took a step, he observed, finding this small detail infinitely more fascinating than the conversation he was engaged in.

"Oh, of course," said Hermione, her tone carefully controlled.

They were silent for the remainder of the journey to the common room.

---

Later that evening found Harry and Ron in their dormitory. They had gone up early, promising Hermione that they would finish their homework before going to sleep, but had instead wound up eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans as they reminisced about their past years at Hogwarts.

"Feels like it's been forever, huh?" Ron mused, referring to the time he and Harry had entered the Chamber of Secrets to rescue Ginny. He picked up a red and white spotted bean, popped it into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully.

Harry nodded. "Yeah." He hesitated, not wanting to ruin the pleasant mood, but couldn't resist adding, "Say, Ron, do you really hate Malfoy?"

Instantly seizing the opportunity to vocally assault Malfoy, Ron replied vehemently, "Of course! He killed my mum and dad! Merlin, you have no idea how good it felt to find him and bring him to the Dementors. The look on his face… you should've seen it, Harry!"

"Well, he wasn't really the one who actually killed them," said Harry delicately. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, maybe we should rethink our judgment of his character. He could've… I dunno, repented while he was waiting with the Dementors or something."

"It's enough that he was there with the ones who did," Ron growled, ignoring the latter part of Harry's response. "He's a Death Eater, through and through."

"Yeah, probably," Harry said softly. He fell back onto his mattress, recognising that it was time to leave off the argument before he accidentally let something slip. "In any case, I'm going to sleep."

"G'night, Harry," said Ron. Instead of getting into bed as well, though, he stood up and headed for the door of the dormitory.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, surprised.

Ron ruffled the back of his hair, looking embarrassed. "Gonna go say good night to Hermione."

"Oh, right." Harry turned over onto his side. "Well, g'night."

Harry waited until Ron had shut the door behind him to get out of bed and plod over to the window. He had always enjoyed sitting on the ledge and looking out over the Forbidden Forest on nights when he couldn't sleep. Before he could do just that, however, he noticed something strange: someone was lying in the snow on the grounds below.

_What the hell?_ Harry thought, completely baffled. He pressed his face against the cold window and squinted, trying to get a clearer view of the person. _What kind of nutter would –_

At that moment, the clouds parted, allowing moonlight to spill onto the snow-covered grounds and illuminate the subject of Harry's attention. Harry's mouth fell open. It was _Malfoy_.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath. He opened the window and stuck his head out into the frosty night air. "Malfoy!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. Malfoy didn't move.

In a fit of panic, Harry ran over to his trunk and hastily pulled out his robes and cloak, thinking frantically, _He can't be dead! Not yet, at least! But if he's not, what's he doing lying in the snow like that?_

Harry dressed in record time, grabbed his wand from his bed, and sprinted out the door. Once downstairs, he didn't even bother to check the common room to see if Ron and Hermione were still there before rushing out the portrait hole.

By the time Harry threw open the double oak front doors and stepped outside, it had begun to snow again. The snowfall was much lighter than it had been earlier that day; more of a light dusting of white glitter drifting down to the ground than actual snow.

Harry stumbled through the thick layer of snow covering the grass to where he had seen Malfoy. When he got there, he was both relieved and scared to find that Malfoy was still there, looking exactly like he had when Harry noticed him from the Gryffindor tower.

"You better be alive," Harry hissed, dropping down to his knees beside Malfoy. The other boy's eyes were closed, and his skin had a faint, bluish-white tint to it. Harry's heart leapt into his throat.

When Harry shook him, however, Malfoy's eyes immediately flew open. He saw Harry, blinked twice, and then sat up so abruptly that his head nearly collided with Harry's.

"What are you _doing_, Potter?"

---

It felt like hours before Potter finally answered Draco's question.

"I could ask the same thing of _you_, Malfoy!"

Draco scowled – or, rather, he would have, had his lips not been so numbed by the cold that they were incapable of obeying the neural messages sent by his brain. Thus, he settled for saying huffily, "And here I was, trying to avoid you for your good as well as mine. What does it _look_ like I was doing?"

"Trying to freeze to death?" Potter suggested. He looked furious. "I didn't know you wanted to die this badly!"

"I'm not trying to die, you arse!" Draco shook his head, feeling droplets of melting snow slide down his back as he did so. "Merlin, Potter, why are you so morbid? If you must know, I was trying to make a snow angel."

"A – a what?" Potter spluttered.

"A _snow angel_," Draco enunciated. He sucked first his bottom lip and then his top lip between his teeth, trying to warm them up. "Don't you know what snow angels are?"

Potter glared at him suspiciously. "I've heard them mentioned a few times before, but no one's ever exactly told me how to make one."

Draco would have laughed, but he really was too cold to do anything except make a small noise of disbelief. _Harry Potter, the world's bloody saviour, doesn't know how to make a snow angel?_ he thought to himself incredulously.

Out loud, he said snidely, "Well, well, what do you know… The boy wonder _doesn't_ know everything!"

"I never said I did," said Potter waspishly. He stood up. "So are you going to tell me? Or should I just go back to my warm, cosy dormitory and leave you out here?"

"I'd prefer it if you left me alone," said Draco, shrugging nonchalantly. He settled back onto the snow, trying not to wince at the coldness.

Potter, however, jerked him back up. "What's wrong with you?! You'll get hypothermia or something!"

"Step back."

"Excuse me?"

"I _said_, step back. If you want to know what a snow angel is, that is."

The suspicious gleam in Potter's eyes returned, but he obliged. Draco carefully lay down on the snow, spread his arms and legs, and moved them back and forth in flapping motions. Then, with as much dignity as one can muster after having just lain in the snow and made a snow angel in front of one's worst enemy, he stood up, brushed the snow off his robes, and gestured at the sloppy imprint of an angel he had left behind.

"That's a snow angel, you sheltered idiot."

Potter gaped at Draco. "That – that doesn't look anything like an angel!"

Draco folded his stiff arms and glared at Potter. "Why don't you make a better one then?"

Uncertainty flashed across Potter's features before his eyes narrowed. "Fine," he said, accepting the challenge.

Draco watched while Potter fell back onto the snow and clumsily followed Draco's earlier arm and leg movements. When he stood up, however, Draco let out a snort of laughter.

"Ours look nothing alike, Potter," he said haughtily. "If mine's unsightly, yours is positively atrocious."

It was clear that if he had had room to argue, Potter would have. As it was, there was no denying the truth of Draco's statement. Thus, as he gazed down at his shapeless snow angel, a sheepish smile spread across Potter's face. "I suppose it is pretty hideous, huh?"

Draco's eyes widened at the sight of Potter's childish smile. He looked so… _happy_ as he kicked at the loose snow to cover up his failed snow angel.

"Hey, Potter?" Draco found himself saying, much more softly than he had intended. Then again, it _had_ been quite a while since he had seen someone look so happy in his presence. _And_ he had been outside for so long that his brain was probably addled by the lack of warmth it was receiving.

"What?" Potter's smile vanished the moment he met Draco's eyes.

Draco stared down at the ground. "I guess haven't really th-thanked you for… for helping me get to Hogsmeade yet." He closed his eyes and tilted his head backwards, thinking, _This is so wrong… I'm about to thank Harry Potter…_

There was a long pause. Then, as though he were aware of the pain Draco's next few words would cost him, Potter said quietly, "No big deal."

Another pause.

Before Potter could speak up again, Draco abruptly said, "I'm going back inside." He pulled his wand out and prepared to erase the snow angel, but was stopped when Potter grabbed his wrist.

"Hold it!" Potter exclaimed angrily. "I came out here to see if you were alive, so you can't leave until you've answered all my questions."

"I wasn't aware that you had any more," Draco said, arching an eyebrow. "Don't you have anything better to do than ask questions? Every time I see you, you're always asking me goddamned –"

"Well, I can't help it! I don't know anything about you."

"So now you want to get to know me better? My, my, aren't we creative with our pick-up lines?"

Potter turned red. "That's not even funny, Malfoy. I just wanted to know why you suddenly decided to go out in the middle of the night and make a snow angel."

Draco frowned. "If you don't mind, Potter, I'm freezing, my lips are probably blue by now, and I think I might be losing my primary motor skills. In other words, I would appreciate it if you saved your questions for a warmer place and time."

"Is it because of the list?"

"Why, yes, Potter, it does happen to be one of the things –"

"I didn't see it on there last time. You added more?"

"I did, but it's none –"

"Can I see?"

"Can you refrain from interrupting me for one sodding second?" Draco exclaimed. "Yes, it's on my list; yes, it's one of the recent additions; and no, you can't see."

Potter rolled his eyes. "I already saw it, so what's the big deal?"

"_The big deal_," Draco drawled, "is that my list is personal and you shouldn't have seen it in the first place. Unfortunately, thanks to your astounding aptitude for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, you did. _Don't_ think that means I'm going to just let you in on my personal affairs, though."

"You –"

"I know, Potter. I owe you. Sod that. I've said it already, and I'll say it again: I owe you my life, not my courtesy."

Potter shook his head, causing tiny flakes of snow to shower off his black hair. "I was going to say that you shouldn't get rid of the snow angel."

Draco lowered his wand. "Why?"

"Well, now that I've looked at it a bit longer, it really isn't so bad looking," Potter replied archly.

"Then take it to the Yule Ball," Draco sneered, secretly pleased nonetheless by Potter's half-compliment. "It's much more attractive than Patil."

Potter laughed and scratched the back of his head, causing more snowflakes to fly off. Draco watched them flutter down to the ground amidst the other snowflakes falling from the sky.

"Seamus thought she was pretty," Potter explained, "but I only took her because… well, because someone else took the girl I wanted to take."

"Is that so?" Draco asked. He smirked. "Poor, pathetic Harry Potter… can't even land himself the lass he wants…" He ducked to avoid the snow Potter threw at him. "Who was it?"

"I'm not telling you if you won't tell me anything."

"How shockingly childish of you." Draco shoved his wand back into his pocket. "Fine, I won't erase it. But either way, it's going to be gone tomorrow morning after all this snow."

Potter shrugged. "You never know. Miracles can happen."

_Witness a miracle._

Draco blinked. "Yeah, sure."

"Anyway, come on. I'm going inside."

"Well, that's great for you, but I'm not. I'm going to stay here a while longer."

Potter tilted his head to one side. "You just said you were cold and wanted to go back," he pointed out.

"Yes, well, I changed my mind," Draco replied smoothly. "You should understand; you're an expert at it."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Fine. But remember, I can see you from my dorm, so don't try anything. Watch out for yourself, too. _Especially_ since you're not supposed to be out of your common room right now."

Draco stared at Potter, speechless with astonishment. This was the first time Potter had ever actually trusted him alone. He had grown so accustomed to being followed around whenever possible that being allowed some space was almost unnerving.

Realising that Potter was waiting for him to give an answer, Draco said, with a false air of indifference, "See you, Potter."

Potter nodded once, and left. Draco watched until he became a small dot against the snow-dotted night sky. Then he turned back to the snow angel he had made and crouched down next to it

"Ice," he murmured to himself, tracing around the angel's head with numb fingers. "I always wanted to be ice, to be cold and unfeeling and frozen. That's why I decided to leave an imprint of myself in the snow."

But, of course, Harry wasn't there to hear the real answer to his earlier question. He was already gone.

---

When Harry returned to the dormitory, Ron and Dean had already gone to bed. Harry was relieved to find that he had somehow managed to pull the hangings around his bed before dashing out of the room, creating the illusion that he was still there sleeping.

Harry shrugged off his cloak and robes, letting them fall to a heap on the floor. It didn't matter, really; he was going to put them on again the next morning anyway.

Just before he climbed back into bed, he glanced once more out the window. Malfoy was still there. This time, however, he was holding what looked like a small ball of fire in one hand and his wand in the other. As Harry watched, Malfoy used his wand to melt eyes, a nose, and a mouth onto the snow angel. He paused, as if considering his next move, before tapping the angel's head lightly. Something spread out across the snow, staining it pale yellow, forming hair. Harry grinned and turned away.

What Harry didn't realise then was that there was no halo to complete the picture. Instead, as Harry snuggled under his covers and closed his eyes, prepared but never quite ready for another night filled with evasive shadows and intangible terrors, Draco crouched outside in the snow and drew horns over the blond hair of his angel.

---

Harry had a different kind of nightmare that night.

He dreamt that he was standing at one end of a very long hallway. He looked around and saw that the grey marble walls were lined with suits of armour, each one different from the next. Curious, he approached one of them and reached out to touch it. Before his skin even made contact with the metal, however, the suit of armour lifted its sword and pointed it directly at Harry's heart. At the same time, its visor flew up, revealing the person inside of it: Ginny.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, pushing the tip of her sword against his chest, tearing the fabric of his shirt. She was crying, but she didn't lower her sword.

Harry backed away. Blood was soaking into the front of his shirt, even though Ginny hadn't broken his skin. Before he could escape, however, he felt the sharp blade of another sword press against the back of his neck.

"Don't run away, Harry. There's nowhere for you to go." It was Ron's voice. He sounded angry. "I know you did it. I thought we promised to never lie to each other."

"We never made that promise!" Harry cried, but his voice sounded distorted and disconnected, like someone else was speaking while he silently mouthed words.

"Hermione said you lied…"

"I had to tell him, Harry!"

"Harry, Lily died because of you…"

"I've always said, Harry, that I made the mistake of loving you too much…"

"No!" Harry tried to yell, clamping his hands over his ears and shaking his head. He began to run blindly down the endless hallway, feeling swords lash out at him, ripping his clothes and piercing his flesh. It didn't hurt, but he knew that if he stayed, he would bleed to death, so he kept on running.

It felt like forever before he reached the end of the corridor, but somehow he made it there. The suits of armour were suddenly gone, and all Harry could see was one word written in dark green across the white wall in front of him: _choose_.

"Choose what?" Harry screamed, relieved to hear that the echoes of his voice belonged to him. But they wouldn't stop. His question reverberated in what was suddenly a small room with no windows and doors, growing louder and higher until it became nothing more than a series of ongoing, meaningless shrieks.

Harry fell to his knees, tears of agony and frustration pouring down his face. "Stop!" he shouted. "I can't take it anymore… STOP!"

And then it did.

But then Harry heard something far more frightening than the fearful echoes of his voice. It was Voldemort, saying his name.

"Harry… Harry Potter…"

Harry looked up. He was back in the corridor, only this time there were torches instead of suits of armour. At the very end of the hallway were two figures: Voldemort and Malfoy. Voldemort was running his long, spidery fingers through Malfoy's hair, and even from his distance, Harry could see that Malfoy, who was collapsed at Voldemort's feet, was trembling.

"LET HIM GO!" Harry yelled. He ran towards them, but the hallway continued to lengthen. "It's not his fault! He didn't mean to do it! Take my soul instead… I have to save him; he still owes me a life debt…"

Why this was important to Voldemort Harry didn't know, but at that moment, Voldemort's pale hands became greyish-brown and scabbed. Malfoy began writhing in pain. The sound of his screams intermingled with the Dementor's rattling breath filled Harry's ears. He reached out desperately, and then…

And then he woke up.

He was sitting upright, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead, his hand outstretched in front of him just like it had been in the dream. The moment Harry became aware of this, he dropped his arm and fell back onto his pillow with a little groan.

Harry lay there in the dark for a while, waiting for the details of the nightmare to trickle away like they always did. But after a few minutes, he realised that something was not right: the vivid image of Malfoy lying on the floor, face contorted in pain, remained imprinted on his retinas. Burrowing himself in the covers, he brought a trembling hand up to his cheeks, and was not surprised to find that they were wet with tears.

What had that dream meant? It had been different from the rest in a way that Harry couldn't quite describe to himself. Remembering the accusing tone in his friends' voices, Harry had to bite down on the sheets balled up in his hand to silence the small sob that escaped.

"Harry, you okay?" said a sleepy voice out of the darkness.

Harry tensed up. "Yeah, Ron," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

No matter how hard Harry tried, he couldn't shake off the nightmare. It stuck out painfully in his mind, some parts more than others. He closed his eyes tightly, willing the sound of Malfoy's screams to go away, when he suddenly became aware of a strange, ominous feeling.

It was like déjà vu. He had felt it before, but it took him a few minutes to place it. When he did, he jolted back upright.

Mr Weasley. He had felt the same kind of dread the night he dreamt that Mr Weasley had been attacked by a snake – _him_. Only this time he hadn't hurt Malfoy; he had tried to save him; but that didn't matter. Either way, Harry knew that something had happened to Malfoy.

Gripped by the same sense of panic he had felt earlier that night when he saw Malfoy lying out in the snow, Harry leapt out of bed and shoved on his glasses. "Where are you?" he muttered frantically under his breath as he threw on his Invisibility Cloak, grabbed his wand from the bedside table, and dashed out the door. He shut the door quietly behind him, and then took off down the stairs.

Once he arrived in the hallway outside the portrait hole, Harry realised that didn't know where to go. There was no corridor like the one in his dream at Hogwarts, at least none that he knew of. _Voldemort was there_, he remembered numbly. _But… but Voldemort is dead, he can't have taken Malfoy._

Suits of armour. Suits of armour. Where were there rows of suits of armour? Harry started running blindly, not having any idea where to look but knowing that he couldn't just stand around doing nothing.

As he ran down hallway after hallway, Harry's thoughts began battling each other.

_Get McGonagall!_

_I can't; if she finds out Malfoy is gone, he'll be sent to the Dementors, even if he's saved._

_You're mad if you think you can do it alone! What're you going to do, run to the –_

"Entrance Hall!" Harry gasped out loud. That was it. How had he not thought of it earlier? It was the only hallway with marble walls in Hogwarts, and it had suits of armour along its walls. It wasn't exactly the corridor in Harry's nightmare, but it was all he had to go off of.

Harry raced down the stairs, praying that the echoes of his footsteps off the marble steps wouldn't attract anyone. He skidded to a halt on the ground floor, gripped the railing of the stairs, and doubled over to catch his breath. For a minute, all he heard was the sound of his own ragged panting. Then, slowly, he looked up.

His blood ran cold.

The staircase Harry had descended was directly opposite the entrance. From where he stood, Harry had a clear view of the front doors – and Malfoy, who lay slumped against them like a blood-stained rag doll.

Just like in his dream, it felt like forever before Harry finally reached Malfoy and fell to his knees next to him. "Malfoy… Fuck, don't you dare do this to me again, Malfoy!"

It was like a repeat of the incident in the snow earlier that night, except this time, there was no snow – only blood, Malfoy's blood, spreading out into the cracks in the flagstone floor, staining the oak doors behind him. Blood everywhere…

…_Blood, innocent blood, scarlet pools filling every little crevice, every little dip in the earth… Harry couldn't breathe… was going to faint… Neville was dead_…

Harry's breath hitched in his throat as fear erupted inside of him, as angry and red as Malfoy's blood on his hands. He ripped open the front of Malfoy's shirt, which was stained crimson, and nearly vomited when he discovered the source of all the blood: the word "TRAITOR", carved deeply into Malfoy's pale chest.

"No," Harry mumbled wildly to himself, "no, no, no!"

He frantically tried to remember the spell to close wounds. Snape… yes, Snape had muttered some strange incantation while tracing over the wounds Sectumsempra had inflicted on Malfoy, and that had worked…

Helplessly, Harry tried to mimic Snape's hand motions with his wand, but nothing happened. He had never been very good at wordless magic, and not knowing which incantation he was supposed to use didn't help.

_Take him to the Hospital Wing, you idiot!_ the part of his mind that hadn't yet succumbed to hysteria screamed. _And while you're at it, call Ron and Hermione down… they'll want to know…_

Fumbling with his wand, Harry prepared to send off a messenger Patronus to wake Ron and Hermione and tell them to meet him at the Hospital Wing as soon as possible. However, he stopped short of voicing the incantation. Was it really necessary? Wouldn't the fact that Harry was with Malfoy in the middle of the night just rouse Ron's temporarily subdued suspicions?

Shaking his head, Harry decided against calling for Ron and Hermione. Then, remembering that Malfoy's condition was not improving while he deliberated over the pros and cons of alerting his friends, Harry suppressed thoughts of Ron and Hermione and returned his attention to the situation at hand.

Pointing his wand at Malfoy, he muttered "_Tergeo!_" and clumsily siphoned as much of the blood on Malfoy's face off as he could. Someone else would have to clean the floor and the doors. All Harry cared about at the moment was Malfoy surviving, because the other boy's breathing was suddenly frighteningly shallow and sporadic.

Harry took a deep breath and stood up. "_Mobilicorpus!_" he said. Malfoy's body drifted into the air, his head lolling to one side, his limbs dangling heavily in the air.

"I can't believe this," Harry groaned quietly, as he began walking towards the stairs he had descended earlier with Malfoy's limp body floating eerily before him. He was itching to break into a run, but didn't want to risk jostling Malfoy – he had already lost too much blood.

As Harry walked, he tried to come up with explanations for Malfoy's condition. He had obviously been attacked, but by whom? Harry let out his breath in a hiss of air. Could it have been a Slytherin? Harry had suspected that they were feeling hostile towards Malfoy, but would they really have gone so far as to physically injure him?

_They're Slytherins_, he reminded himself grimly. _What the hell do they care? Nothing's going to stop them from getting what they want._

"You're mad for being loyal to them," Harry whispered, gazing at Malfoy's ashen face. Biting his lip, he tentatively reached out and touched Malfoy's cheek. It was cold. He had been in the snow all night, so that was no surprise. Still, Harry couldn't help but grimace and withdraw his hand sharply.

It felt like eternity and a day before Harry finally arrived at the double oak doors of the Hospital Wing. His wand in one hand, Harry began pounding on the door with the other. "Madam Pomfrey!" he shouted. "I've got an injured student here!"

There was no answer. Harry yelled louder. Still no one came.

Just when he was about to give up and resign himself to the fact that Malfoy was going to bleed to death in the hallway outside the infirmary, Harry heard footsteps approaching him. He whipped around and said angrily, "About time!"

"Potter?"

"Professor McGonagall?" Harry said faintly. He shook his head, ignoring the shocked expression on McGonagall's lined face as she stared at Malfoy's floating body. "I'm sorry, there's no time to explain, Professor… Malfoy's been attacked, and he needs Madam Pomfrey's attention!"

"I can see that!" McGonagall exclaimed. Pushing Harry aside, she tried the door handle. It turned easily. McGonagall glanced over her shoulder and shot Harry a questioning look.

Harry felt the blood rush up to his cheeks. Of course; he should have known that the infirmary of all places wouldn't be locked. "Sorry, wasn't thinking," he muttered – and it was the truth, because all he could focus on at that moment was the alarming amount of fresh blood from Malfoy's wound that was seeping through his shirt.

McGonagall tutted, but didn't reprimand Harry's slow thinking. Instead, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Come along," she said tersely.

Harry followed McGonagall into the dark ward, looking around nervously at the empty beds as she led him over to one near the back. She gestured for Harry to lay Malfoy down, before striding briskly over to Madam Pomfrey's office and knocking twice.

"Poppy, you have a patient!" McGonagall called.

A few minutes later, the office door swung open and Madam Pomfrey emerged wearing a light blue nightgown and a matching nightcap. She blinked blearily at McGonagall. "What was that, Minerva?"

"The Malfoy boy was attacked."

Madam Pomfrey immediately sprung to action. "Attacked, you say?" she asked, but she was already hurrying past McGonagall and over to a large cabinet, turning on the lights in the ward with a sweep of her wand as she moved.

McGonagall hurried to keep up with Madam Pomfrey. "Yes, Potter says he found him –" She broke off, frowning at Harry. "Where did you find him?"

"Against the front doors," Harry said, suppressing the urge to tell Madam Pomfrey to hurry up and heal Malfoy already. She seemed to be taking an unnecessarily long time gathering items at the cabinet. "Please, Madam Pomfrey, you have to save him – his breathing doesn't sound right, and he's lost a lot of blood –"

"Calm yourself, Potter," McGonagall interrupted sharply. She had arrived at Harry's side. "Mr Malfoy will be fine in Poppy's care. Now, I need you to tell me exactly what happened… Perhaps it would be easier if we went to my office to –"

"No!" Harry's voice rose of its own volition. "I mean – can we talk here?"

Before McGonagall could answer, she was interrupted by Madam Pomfrey's arrival. The head nurse pushed Harry away unceremoniously, squeezed around McGonagall, and immediately set to work on Malfoy's wounds with her wand and several jars of different ointments and potions.

A wave of relief so powerful that he could have wept swept through Harry as he watched Madam Pomfrey close up the hideous words carved into Malfoy's flesh. "Is he going to be all right?" he asked earnestly.

"Hold it, Potter," said McGonagall, gripping Harry's shoulder and leading him over to a nearby bed. She forced him to sit down on it. "Poppy will let you know about Malfoy's condition in a moment. For now, explain what happened from the very top – lucidly, if you please."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. It was like that night in fifth year all over again, only this time, he thankfully didn't have to explain to anyone that their father lay dying somewhere in the wizarding world.

"I had a dream," he said shortly. "It was nothing. Just another nightmare. But it was different from the other dreams I've been having, because… it was more real. Anyway, just before I woke up, I dreamt that I was in some corridor and that Malfoy was there with – with Voldemort, except then Voldemort became a Dementor, and I knew Malfoy was going to get the Dementor's Kiss. I tried to reach him, but I couldn't."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Go on."

"I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong, and I thought that maybe…" Harry swallowed, glad that Ron wasn't there. "Well, I figured it was like the night I dreamt that I attacked Mr Weasley. So I went downstairs to the Entrance Hall, and that's where I found Malfoy. He was slumped up against the front doors and covered in blood… There was blood everywhere… And then I pulled his shirt back, and I saw the word. Traitor."

"I see," said McGonagall. She looked shaken. "Did you notice anything else out of the ordinary?"

Harry shook his head. "Professor," he said slowly, "can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, Potter, you may."

"Who d'you reckon did it?"

She shook her head, indicating that she didn't know. "Considering our security, it is quite unlikely that an outside stranger managed to enter the castle at night. Even if one did somehow find one's way into the school, breaking into the Slytherin common room is impossible unless the password is known."

"Maybe he was… I dunno, ambushed by his housemates?"

"Ambushed?"

"They're not exactly all too pleased that he's back at school."

McGonagall frowned. "Potter, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from making unfounded judgments about your fellow students. We have no proof that any of them are behind Mr Malfoy's attack."

"But it's a start!" Harry insisted. Frustrated, he pressed his palms against his eyes. "I just feel bad, that's all."

"Potter, this is not your fault. Whatever Mr Malfoy did to deserve –"

"That's just it!" Harry exclaimed angrily. "What if he did nothing to deserve this? What if his housemates are just pissed off because he got off free? You saw that word on him, Professor! Who else other than some bitter student whose dad got tossed into Azkaban would cut that into him?"

"Calm down, Potter," McGonagall chastised, her eyes flashing sternly. "It is not your responsibility to play detective right now. You are ordered to return to your common room and forget about this incident. Rest assured that I will deal with it."

"I found him!" Harry shouted.

"Mr Potter, keep your voice down!"

Harry ground his teeth together. "Sorry, Madam Pomfrey."

"There is nothing you can do for him right now," said McGonagall.

She tried to take Harry's arm, but he twisted away from her. There was no way he was going to leave Malfoy. It was his fault that Malfoy was injured in the first place; he should have forced Malfoy to go back inside, instead of letting him stay outside.

"Professor," said Harry, as calmly as he could, "can I please just stay here with him tonight?"

McGonagall pursed her lips. Harry could tell she was debating whether Harry was stable enough at the moment to be making decisions. "This is Poppy's ward, so I will leave that up to her to decide," she finally said, giving Harry an appraising sort of look.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said gratefully.

McGonagall stepped up to Madam Pomfrey and began muttering with her in low tones. A few minutes later, she walked over to Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I have convinced Poppy to agree to let you stay for the night," she said, the ghost of a smile flitting across her lips.

Harry couldn't help grinning too. McGonagall really was full of surprises. "Thanks, Professor," he said again.

A short while later McGonagall left. On her way out, she whispered something to Madam Pomfrey. The nurse glanced over at Harry and nodded.

"Mr Potter?"

Harry scrambled to his feet. "Yes?"

Madam Pomfrey began gathering the ointments she had brought over to Malfoy's bed as she spoke to Harry. "As you know, I have a very strict policy against students and other visitors disturbing my patients. However, Minerva has requested that I allow you to stay on this one occasion, so I have no choice but to oblige. Keep in mind, though, that I will not hesitate to remove you from Mr Malfoy's side if you disregard any of the following rules.

"While you are here, you must remain quiet and allow Mr Malfoy to rest. _Do not touch or disturb him in any other manner._ The wounds on his chest contained high levels of dark magic, and no amount of intervention on my part can repair what has already been damaged. Therefore, he will be in and out of delirium tonight. If he screams out or shows any other signs of pain during sleep, do nothing. I have done my best to ensure a dreamless slumber, but I can't say that my methods will be fully effective."

Harry gulped. "So it's just tonight?"

She sighed wearily. "Yes."

"It sounds terrible."

"It is," she snapped. Her eyes, however, softened. "If it appears that his pain is becoming unbearable, wake me up."

Harry nodded. "Madam Pomfrey?"

She stopped half-way to the storage cabinet. "Yes, Mr Potter?"

"What… exactly is this curse supposed to do?"

"As far as I've surmised, its purpose is to force the recipient to relive all of his or her deepest regrets." Her lips curled back in disgust. "Most likely, the perpetrator's intent was to make Mr Malfoy recount his supposedly traitorous behaviour and any other unpleasant memories he has tried to suppress over the years."

"Isn't that what a Dementor does?"

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, keeping her back to Harry. "The two are different. But you're correct in the sense that they're both meant to steal sanity and the will to live away from the victim."

Harry bowed his head, feeling pity for Malfoy rise inside of him. "Okay. Good night, Madam Pomfrey. Thanks for letting me stay."

Madam Pomfrey sniffed, but said nothing. Once she was done putting away the jars she had brought out, she shut the door of the cabinet, dimmed the lights the same way she had turned them on, and retired to her office.

Now that Harry was alone with Malfoy, he didn't know what to do. Uncertainly, he reached out to touch Malfoy, wondering if he was still as cold as he had been when Harry first found him. Then Harry remembered that Madam Pomfrey had warned him against touching Malfoy, and promptly brought his hand back to his lap.

"You're an idiot," Harry murmured, taking in Malfoy's lifeless appearance. "I told you to watch out for yourself. What did you do, fall asleep in the snow? You're almost lucky someone dragged you inside and did this to you, because you probably would've frozen to death otherwise."

The moment these words left Harry's mouth, however, he was overcome by guilt. What was he saying? Malfoy was anything _but_ lucky. Perhaps this was why he'd been so angry at Harry for sending him back to Hogwarts. He must have known that the other students would have received him with dislike and mistrust. The ones who had been on Harry's side hated him for working for Voldemort, and the ones who had been on his side hated him for being allowed another year to live while the rest of their allies suffered for their crimes. The many times he and Harry had been seen together probably hadn't helped his reputation amongst his housemates very much, either.

_It really is my fault_, Harry realised. _I should've just left him alone like he wanted me to._

Harry chewed on his bottom lip as he gazed down at Malfoy. Then, grimacing, he said quietly, "I… I'm sorry."

Malfoy didn't stir. Harry's apology had fallen on deaf ears, and he was almost grateful for it. He wouldn't have heard the end of it if Malfoy had known he had apologised.

Deciding it was safe to keep talking to Malfoy, Harry continued. "You know, it's weird how I don't hate you. I mean, you finally showed your true colours. You're a Death Eater, the worst of the worst. Or at least… you _were_. I don't really know what you are right now. But that doesn't matter, because you've still proved yourself to be everything I fought against. I should probably hate you even more than I used to right now, shouldn't I?

"You're really not all that bad, though. Even though you've said and done some pretty cruel things, especially to Ron and the other Weasleys, you're still a human being. You're not like Voldemort. You still feel and all that shit, only you try to hide your feelings, while the rest of us express them without second thought. But I'm not stupid. I see through your act. No matter how much you brag about it, I know you hated being a Death Eater. It scared you, didn't it? I even felt sorry for you once – that night in the Astronomy Tower, when you could've killed Dumbledore but didn't. I saw you lower your wand, which makes me wonder… Would you have accepted Dumbledore's offer and let the Order protect you if Snape hadn't burst in then? If you had, things could've been different. We might've even eventually become friends.

"Then again, I'm not really thinking straight these days, so I could be wrong. But at the risk of sounding conceited, I've always been a pretty decent judge of character. I mean, I thought you were a spoiled, arrogant, heartless prick the moment I first saw you in Madam Malkin's, and I wasn't wrong. You turned out to be all of that and more. And yet I still don't hate you. Funny how these things work out, huh?"

Harry sighed. He felt like a moron, talking to a comatose Draco Malfoy. Then again, that was probably the easiest way to communicate with Malfoy – when he was incapable of responding.

He stood up. All that talking had made him thirsty, and he needed a drink of water. He had barely taken a few steps away from the bed, however, when Malfoy let out a blood-curdling shriek.

---

Draco was dreaming, and he wanted to wake up, but he couldn't.

In his dream he was falling. No, drifting – tumbling gently towards a ground that wasn't there. Ordinarily he wouldn't have been very scared; the sensation was anything but terrifying. But this particular dream wasn't ordinary, and Draco knew it. Because as he fell, he slid in and out of memories, fragments of his past that he didn't want unearthed, all of them so real, so tangible, that Draco knew he was actually reliving and not just remembering them. And all the while, he knew that the ground he was plummeting towards and couldn't see was actually hell, and that if he ever reached it, he'd be lost forever.

So he struggled. He struggled to slow down the speed of his descent and screamed because prolonging the inevitable fall meant being punished by his father for sneaking into his study at night and losing the snitch to Harry Potter for the fourth time in a row and receiving the Dark Mark from the Dark Lord and killing and crying and everything he wished had never happened… all over again.

Draco frantically clawed at the air around him. It was then that he noticed that he was bleeding. He looked down and saw, through the hazy image of a nameless Muggle he had tortured to the brink of insanity, the word "TRAITOR" written across his chest. Terror streaked through him, and last few shreds of reason he had left vanished.

He shrieked meaningless words, and shut his eyes and mind against faceless bodies lying in blood-streaked mud and Gryffindor banners flashing crimson and gold in the Great Hall. But he couldn't close his heart; he never had been able to; so fear and guilt and pride and loathing leaked into his veins, staining the blood that poured from the seven letters carved into his flesh black.

And then, just as Draco was beginning to wonder if the flames of hell were preferable to the agony of his past, he felt the ghost of a hand brush across his arm.

Before he knew it, someone was murmuring to him, a soft, low voice that was at once both familiar and unfamiliar. It seemed to materialise out of thin air and twist itself into a fine, glowing thread before Draco's eyes. Suddenly, Draco knew: As long as that thread was there, he would not be lost. His sanity was hanging by that thin, barely perceptible thread. He wanted to touch it with a desperation that burned hotter than the inferno below him and brighter than the darkness around him, so he fought through shadows and blood and the thick, heavy feeling of shame to reach it.

The moment his fingers made contact with the shining thread of light, Draco's eyes flew open.

The first thing he saw was Potter's face looming over him. Thinking, _Shit, maybe I really did land in hell after all_, he closed his eyes again to shut out the sight.

"Er – Malfoy?"

Draco's eyes flew open; he jerked away fearfully when he saw Potter's hand moving towards him out of his peripheral vision. "Don't touch me," he rasped. "I'm not going!"

"Going? You've been tossing around and screaming bloody murder for the past hour; I don't think you're fit to be going anywhere."

Draco moaned. He felt like he'd just been hit by a train and then run over a few times for good measure. His chest burned, and confusing images and thoughts swam before his eyes. "You did this to me, didn't you?" he breathed.

"Shut up, Malfoy. You'd have bled to death by now if it weren't for me."

"Yeah, fucking Potter, always the hero," Draco mumbled. The soothing voice that had brought him to the surface was nowhere to be found; he felt himself beginning to slip back into delirium.

"Wait, don't go. You're going to start having nightmares again."

Draco shifted. He was on a strange bed with stiff, white sheets. "Where am I?" he groaned into the pillow.

"The Hospital Wing, you dolt. Where else would you be?"

"Why are you here, then?"

There was silence. Draco lifted one eyelid with great difficulty and saw that Potter was staring at his hands in embarrassment. "I felt bad. I found you, so I thought I'd stay with you. Madam Pomfrey said you'd be fine tomorrow," he said.

"Well, that's just grand!" Draco could feel the pull of his nightmares dragging him back in. He clutched at the bed, but his efforts to resist were futile. "Yeah… just wake me up if I start screaming or something…"

"Malfoy, don't –"

But it was too late. Draco had already succumbed to the power of the curse, and this time, not even Harry's voice could reach him.


	11. A Helping Hand

**A/N:** Thanks to Vana and Christine for the betas!

_Apology is a lovely perfume; it can transform the clumsiest moment into a gracious gift._

- Margaret Lee Runbeck

**Chapter 10:** A Helping Hand

The sound of thousands of feet making their way to the Great Hall woke Draco up the next morning. The moment his eyes flickered open, he groaned and flipped over onto his stomach. He felt lightheaded and nauseous, like he had lost several gallons of blood – which, he realised, as memories of the night before began taking shape in his mind, was probably the case.

He barely had time to gather that he was in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts before Madam Pomfrey came bustling over to his bedside with a tray bearing breakfast: a few slices of toast, jam, butter, and a glass of water.

Draco scrambled into a sitting position. "Why am I here?" he demanded, taking the tray and setting it aside, even though he was starving. Complete knowledge of the situation was more important than satisfying his empty stomach.

"You were attacked, Mr Malfoy," the nurse said sternly. "Now lie down before you overexert yourself, and have yourself a bite of breakfast."

"I'm not hungry." Draco glared at Madam Pomfrey. "I'm leaving."

"That is the _last_ thing you'll be doing, young man. You need rest and a dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion."

Coldly, Draco replied, "That won't be necessary. I'm perfectly fine."

The moment these words left his mouth, a wave of dizziness struck. He doubled over and clutched at his head. Madam Pomfrey used this opportunity to take the tray she had brought over and place it on Draco's lap.

"Unfortunately, your standards of 'perfectly fine' don't measure up to mine," she said snippily. "Now _eat_. The Blood-Replenishing Potion is mixed in with the water, so make sure to drink all of it."

She strode away briskly, muttering about ungrateful students. Draco glowered at her retreating back, waiting until the door of her office had swung shut behind her to drop the tray of food on the floor beside his bed.

With a sigh, Draco fell back against his pillow and closed his eyes. Apart from the wooziness, he wasn't suffering from any lingering after-effects of the curse. The perpetrator – whoever he was – hadn't sought to seriously injure Draco, even though he very well could have. Draco knew this because he was more than well-acquainted with the curse at hand, thanks to his Aunt Bellatrix. He himself had been forced to use it to torture some useless Auror for the Weasleys' whereabouts back during the war. It was Dark magic, which meant that the chances of Draco's attacker not being a Slytherin were highly unlikely.

At the moment, however, what bothered Draco the most wasn't the attack itself. It was the fact that Potter was the one who had found him and brought him to the infirmary. Of course, Draco had been unconscious at the time, but he vaguely remembered waking up once during the night to find Potter sitting next to him. It was then that Potter had revealed his role in rescuing Draco.

"Well, fuck," Draco mumbled as the reality of the circumstances hit him. "Merlin knows another life debt is the last thing I need right now…"

Another wave of nausea, this one stronger than the last, swept over Draco. He sucked in a large gulp of air and bit his lip to keep from retching. When it passed, he rolled over onto his side and gazed blearily at the cup of watered down potion. Suddenly, it looked much more inviting than it had a few minutes ago.

With a mighty groan, Draco leaned over and took the glass. He stared morosely into it for a moment, wondering what his father would say about accepting drinks from enemies if he were there, before propping himself up on an elbow and downing the contents of the glass.

---

"Harry? Are you listening to me?"

"Yes," Harry replied automatically, dropping his gaze from the ceiling to Ginny's face. "You asked me how my day was."

"I know," Ginny replied. She looked amused. "Usually when someone asks you a question, you answer it."

Harry shrugged. "It wasn't anything special."

"Well, where are you headed right now?" she asked as she and Harry walked past a group of Gryffindor girls in Ginny's year. They waved at Ginny and giggled when Harry's eyes absently swept over them.

"Hospital Wing."

"Why?"

Harry stopped in the middle of the hallway. "Ron and Hermione didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" she asked curiously, stopping too.

Harry winced, recalling how Ron and Hermione had found out earlier that morning.

"_Hey, Harry, did you do the Charms essay?" Ron asked, as he, Harry, and Hermione made their way across the courtyard. It was their free period, and they were enjoying a stroll out in the nippy morning air._

"_Hmm?" said Harry. He was preoccupied with trying to figure out what had happened to Malfoy and wishing, for once, that Ron and Hermione would leave him alone so that he could go up to the Hospital Wing._

"_Did _you_, Ron?" Hermione asked sharply._

_Ron suddenly became very interested in a nearby flowering plant. "Say," he said, changing the subject, as he fingered a snow-covered petal, "I heard Malfoy was attacked."_

_Harry immediately snapped out of his thoughts and turned to face Ron. "What?" he demanded. "Who told you that?"_

_Ron shot Harry a curious look. "You haven't heard? Everyone's talking about it. I heard Nott and his gang snickering about how Malfoy deserved it on my way to breakfast." He paused, looking thoughtful. "First time I've actually agreed with a Slytherin."_

"_Ron!" Hermione said warningly. She sighed and turned to Harry. "I heard about it, too. Apparently a student found him in the Entrance Hall late last night, covered in blood. The professors are trying to find the culprit as we speak."_

_Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a voice behind him._

"_Potter, I need to speak to you."_

_Harry spun around and gulped when he saw a bundled-up, serious-looking McGonagall standing behind him, a thick scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. "Professor?" he asked, surprised to see her outside. His pulse quickened when he realised that she probably had news about Malfoy's condition. "How's Malfoy?"_

"_Mr Malfoy is doing much better, according to Poppy, and should be able to leave the infirmary in a day or two." McGonagall's eyes flicked over to Ron and Hermione, both of whom were standing behind Harry, trying their best not to look like they were eavesdropping. Upon being fixed with McGonagall's stare, Hermione blushed and looked away quickly, but Ron stepped forward to stand next to Harry, an eager expression on his pale face._

"_What d'you reckon happened, Professor?" he asked._

_McGonagall frowned, but didn't question Ron's knowledge of the incident. Instead, she said sternly, "Mr Weasley, what happened last night is none of your concern."_

"_Why can't we know if Harry knows?" Ron whinged._

"_Because the circumstances involve neither you nor Miss Granger in any way," McGonagall snapped._

_Hermione, who had moved over to join Harry and Ron, nudged Ron and hissed, "She's right." _

"_He could've snuck out of the common room," Ron offered helpfully, apparently determined to stay in the know._

"_He didn't," Harry snapped, almost instantly. Everyone turned to look at him in surprise. He stared down at his snow-dusted boots. "Well, he's forbidden to leave the common room after ten, isn't he?"_

_McGonagall nodded. "However, we haven't undergone the necessary procedures to ensure that he follows this particular rule, so it __**is**__ possible that –"_

"_No," Harry said forcefully, "I'm sure that isn't the case." He cringed, realising that he was _lying _for Malfoy._ I need to sort out my priorities… _he thought._

_McGonagall looked momentarily taken aback by Harry's confident interjection. Harry was sure that she was pursing her lips behind her scarf. Finally, she said, "Very well. In any case, Potter, you'll need to follow me up to my office now. And no, Mr Weasley, you can't come."_

_Harry shot his best apologetic look over his shoulder at his friends. "Tell us later," Ron mouthed. Hermione simply stared at him with a confused expression on her face. Harry could almost see the cogs in her brain turning, trying to decipher how Harry had become so involved in the situation. Sighing, Harry followed McGonagall inside._

"Malfoy got attacked," said Harry now, trying to sound nonchalant about it. The last thing he wanted was to explain everything all over again, like he had done for Ron and Hermione after he returned from his second question and answer session with the headmistress.

Ginny's eyebrows skyrocketed. "Really? What happened?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, remembering that he had yet to confront Ginny about his involvement in Malfoy's trial. "It's a long story. But speaking of Malfoy… I wanted to ask you something, Ginny."

Without giving her the opportunity to answer, Harry grabbed Ginny's sleeve and tugged her over to the side of the hallway, away from the steady stream of students heading to their common rooms. "Listen," he said anxiously, "Hermione told me that you read about… um, about Malfoy's trial."

Ginny's lips tightened. "Yes," she said cautiously.

Harry ducked his head, overcome by guilt. "I'm sorry; I should've told you earlier where I went that morning. It's just that there were so many other things on my mind… and…"

"And you didn't want me to think you were betraying me by freeing one of the Death Eaters involved in my parents' murder," she finished bluntly.

Grimacing, Harry said desperately, "Ginny, if I had known it would make you and Ron so upset –"

Harry broke off mid-sentence, however, when he discovered, to his amazement, that Ginny was smiling.

"Don't bother with the apologies, you dolt," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'll admit I wasn't happy about it when I first found out, but the shock has worn off by now. I'm fine with it, really. I'm just glad you brought it up before I had to force it out of you."

Relief swept over Harry. "You mean you're not angry?" he asked hopefully.

Ginny shook her head. Looking away, she answered, "I don't really blame Malfoy. I mean, I still hate him, I always will, for everything else… but it wasn't him who held the wand and said the incantation, so how fair of me would it be if I said it was his fault that Dad and Mum are dead?"

Harry could have jumped for joy. "I'm unbelievably lucky to have you as a girlfriend, you know that?" he said, leaning down and kissing Ginny.

"No, but as long as you know it…" she said teasingly.

She slipped her hand into Harry's and they started walking again, the topic of the trial Harry had dreaded bringing up for so long finally dealt with and forgotten, at least for the moment. As they continued down the hall, Ginny returned to their previous discussion.

"Harry, you can't say something like 'Malfoy got attacked' and expect me to let you leave it at that," she scolded. "At least tell me why you're so interested."

"Well, I sort of found him," Harry mumbled.

Ginny's eyes widened. "How? And when?"

"Last night," Harry explained. He let go of Ginny's hand and put an arm around her waist instead. "I had a dream, and it led me to Malfoy."

"Like the dream you had about Dad?"

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. It wasn't really the truth, though. After thinking about it the whole day, he had concluded that the two were nothing alike. For none thing, he had seen things through Voldemort's point of view when he dreamt about Mr Weasley's attack, but Voldemort was dead now. For another, the previous night's dream hadn't actually shown him what was actually happening; it had only given him the vague feeling that Malfoy was not all right.

He and Ginny continued on in silence. Harry could tell that she wanted to ask him more about Malfoy, but didn't want to upset him. He began to regret bringing it up. _She shouldn't have to bother with something I don't even need to bother with_, he thought guiltily.

Ginny walked with Harry over to the Hospital Wing. When they reached the double doors, she turned around. "See you later, Harry," she said, waving.

"You don't want to see him?" Harry asked, surprised that she hadn't asked to.

She shook her head. "I'd prefer to keep the amount of contact between me and Malfoy down to a minimum," she said carefully, and then left.

Harry watched her walk away, relieved that she hadn't asked him why he didn't feel the same way. In a way, that was what he liked about Ginny. She never asked unnecessary or awkward questions, and she rarely interfered with the aspects of Harry's life that didn't concern her. Their friendship always came first, which made for a lack of awkward romantic gestures like flowers and love letters and dates. Harry wasn't complaining, either; he had never really understood (or wanted to understand, for that matter) the female obsession with those kinds of things.

Harry now turned to the door of the infirmary and collected himself. "You're not to blame, Harry," he muttered under his breath, repeating the words Hermione had said to him multiple times over the course of the day. "It's because of you that he's alive. And remember, he's still Malfoy. He's no different today than he was six years ago. "

_Except for the part where he became a Death Eater – a Death Eater who was cursed and left to bleed to death by housemates who used to worship him._

But that was just a minor detail.

Raising a hand, Harry prepared to knock on the door. Before he could, however, it swung open, leaving Harry standing face-to-face with Madam Pomfrey.

"Mr Potter," she acknowledged stiffly. "Come to see Mr Malfoy, have you?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, ducking his head and keeping his eyes trained on an interesting lightning-bolt-shaped crack in the ground. "Can I?"

"Very well. He's resting at the moment, so kindly refrain from disturbing him." She stepped aside to let Harry in, and then slipped past him into the hallway outside.

"You're leaving?" Harry asked, taken aback. As far as he knew, Madam Pomfrey never left the Hospital Wing, except during feasts.

She nodded once. "The headmistress and I have a few brief matters to discuss."

And with that she walked away, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone in the ward.

---

Draco wasn't really sleeping. He had been pretending to be asleep, biding his time while waiting for the nurse to leave so that he could escape. It had been the perfect ploy, and everything was working out as planned – that is, until Potter showed up.

Draco was searching for his wand when someone behind him cleared his throat. He jumped and spun around to look at the source of the sudden sound.

Potter was sitting on one of the beds, watching Draco with a confused expression. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"What are _you_ doing?" Draco demanded. He sat back down on his bed, his heart still pounding from the scare Potter had given him. "I thought visitors weren't allowed."

"I'm an exception," Potter replied, shrugging his shoulders casually.

"You always are," Draco muttered absently, resuming his search. He checked under his pillow. No wand. _Where did she hide it?_ he wondered angrily.

"Hey, shouldn't you be resting?"

Draco glared at Potter. "Shouldn't you be somewhere else?"

Potter stared at him patiently.

Draco sighed. Huffily, he said, "If you must know, I'm going."

There was a short moment of silence, and then Potter said hesitantly, "Where exactly to?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but shut it upon realising that he didn't know the answer. He couldn't go back to the Slytherin common room; not yet, at least.

Potter seemed to understand this, because an infuriatingly knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He watched as Draco pulled out all of the drawers in the bedside table next to him and checked them. When Draco slammed them shut in frustration, having found nothing, Potter asked curiously, "D'you remember who did it?"

"No." Draco slid off the edge of the bed and walked over to the potion cabinet. He tried the door, but it was locked. "Potter, where's my bloody wand?"

Potter gave him an odd look from across the ward. "Hell if I know," he responded. He waited until Draco returned to try again. "D'you remember anything at all?"

"I remember being outside in the snow. And then waking up in the middle of the night and seeing you there." Draco smirked at Potter's evident embarrassment. "It was very sweet of you to sit at my bedside and hold my hand, Potter."

"I didn't hold your hand," he snapped, blushing even more furiously. "Umm… so you don't remember anything I said?"

"Just the part where you told me that you found me." Draco paused. "How _did_ you find me, anyway?"

"Dream."

"Come again?"

"I had a dream, and you were… in it. And when I woke up, I had the feeling that something was wrong, so I ran down to the Entrance Hall."

"How astonishingly convenient! Not only is the hero kind and noble, he's a Seer too! I expect you'll be putting that one on your resume."

"I'm not a Seer, you arse. I guess you could call it intuition." Potter grimaced in a way that suggested he wouldn't have minded a change of topic.

Draco, however, was curious. "You mean you can see things that you haven't seen?"

"It's not like some magical ability or anything. It's… I dunno what it is."

"Huh," said Draco contemplatively. "Well, as much as I'm enjoying our chat, Potter –"

"You are?"

Draco stared at Potter incredulously. He actually sounded like he was posing the question seriously. "Are you sure they kept the right person in the Hospital Wing last night?" Draco asked.

Potter laughed emptily. "I was here, too. The whole night."

"The whole night?" Draco repeated slowly.

"Yeah."

Draco sat back down heavily on his bed. Bewildered, he asked, "Why?"

Potter leaned back on his elbows, his green eyes studying the blank white ceiling above him. "I told you last night, Malfoy. You said you remembered that part."

"What, that you felt responsible?"

The ensuing silence confirmed Draco's guess.

"Why?" Draco tried again. "I know you want to be the one to kill me, but taking credit for someone else's work is rather low, don't you think?"

"Don't say that," Potter said in a low voice. He had a pained expression on his face that bothered Draco very much.

"I would have thought that such petty insults wouldn't be –"

"I don't mean that," Potter interrupted angrily. "I meant that you have no right to judge me. You don't know what I want."

"You've wanted me dead ever since you laid eyes on me," Draco said coldly, without skipping a beat. "There's no reason for you to change your mind now and suddenly decide you'd rather be best mates. I gave you that chance already, Potter, and you turned it down."

"It's not about being friends, Malfoy," Potter replied, closing his eyes slightly, as if the idea of being friends with Draco was both amusing and disturbing at the same time. "It's about all of the things that have happened to us since the war. The trial. The detentions. The list. The trip to Hogsmeade. Last night. _This_."

"This?" Draco scoffed, his fingers moving to grip the sheets under him tightly despite his careless tone. "So what if we've had more than the average number of encounters in the past few months? Nothing has changed between us."

"Maybe not for you, but it has for me." Potter looked strangely upset, like he had something he wanted to say, but couldn't quite find the right way to phrase it. He sat up a little straighter and glanced over at Draco. "Last night I sat by your bed and talked to you. I said a lot of things that… But then again, you probably don't care."

"Well, now I do," Draco snapped.

"It wasn't anything special. I thought that by talking I'd be able to bring you out of your dreams, but it didn't work once you fell back asleep." Potter took a deep breath. "It's just that while I was talking to you, I realised that… that maybe I don't really want you to die. That maybe it's not too late for you to convince them that you've changed."

Draco narrowed his eyes as Potter's words sunk in. So that was the reason for Potter's involvement in his life. An unexpected burst of rage at this realisation drove him to yell his next words.

"So you think that by sticking around, you'll be able to convert me into a saint?" Draco didn't know whether he was more enraged or confused by this. It didn't really matter, though, because all he wanted at that moment was to hear the truth, and nothing but the truth, from Potter for once. "What d'you reckon you'll achieve by always being there to save me? Tell me, Potter. Why are you doing this?"

Potter looked gobsmacked by Draco's outburst. He clearly hadn't been expecting such a dramatic reaction. As always, though, he recovered quickly enough to retort, "Have you ever thought that maybe I _wanted_ to help you, Malfoy? Maybe I felt bad! Maybe I thought that I could at least make your last few months a little better, maybe even a little _longer_, since I was the one who gave them back to you! Have you ever once considered the possibility that I'm _not_ trying to make your life hell?"

"No, I haven't, because you've _always_ made my life hell!" said Draco furiously. "My life has been hell since the day you were _born_, so don't even think for a second that it isn't because of you that –"

"THEN TELL ME WHAT I DID WRONG, AND I'LL FUCKING FIX IT FOR YOU IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT!"

Draco turned away. "I want you to leave me alone, Potter. I want you to _walk away and go live your life the way it was meant to be lived._"

"Well, you chose a fine time to tell me that!" Potter exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Sorry, Malfoy, but forgetting about you is no longer an option!"

"And why's that?" Draco sneered. "Afraid you won't have anyone to bitch to, anyone to play with when you get bored of being the wizarding world's golden boy? I'm not your goddamned toy, Potter! Do you think I exist for the sole purpose of providing you with a nice little project to work on while you avoid your responsibilities to your friends and followers? 'Poor, deranged Draco Malfoy… Wouldn't it be a _splendid_ idea to fix him and make him one of us?' Well, I have news for you, Potter. You can't mend my life, and I will _never_ be one of you!"

There was a ringing silence. Then, slowly, quietly, Potter said, "Turn around and face me, Malfoy."

Before he could object, Draco heard a pair of shoes land on the tiled floor of the ward and felt a pair of hands seize his shoulders and roughly twist him around so that he was looking straight into a pair of seething green eyes. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the pain submerged in the depths of those eyes. It hurt so much just to see it that Draco forgot where Potter's pain ended and his began.

For the first time in his life, Draco wanted to break down and cry in front of Harry Potter.

But Potter stopped Draco by saying, "Look, I'm sorry for offending you. I didn't mean what I said to come out the way it did. I just wanted you to know that I'm not helping because I want to make myself feel better. I'm doing it for _you_."

"All in the noble spirit of Gryffindor!" Draco spat out, disgusted. "Just like you did me a favour by prolonging my –"

"I'm sorry," Potter interrupted. He winced, refusing to meet Draco's astonished gaze. "I realised last night what you meant when you said that I made things worse for you by intervening in the trial. I never once thought that things would turn out like this."

Draco sighed inaudibly. "Maybe you should think before you act next time."

"Maybe."

There was another pause, during which Draco stared at Potter and Potter stared back. No words were exchanged, but they somehow managed to hold an entire conversation in that single stare.

After a moment, Draco gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Okay," he said quietly.

Potter cocked his head. "You don't mind being seen with me?"

"The question is, do you want to be seen with me? It could tarnish your shining image."

"What shining image?" Potter grumbled. Then he smiled, and Draco realised they were still standing uncomfortably close.

Draco drew away quickly, feeling suddenly flustered, and frantically scoured his mind for a suitable change of topic. "Someone who was on my side attacked me. The curse is something we used during the war."

"Yeah, I figured," said Potter. He sat down on Draco's vacated bed. "I'd really like to find out who did it."

"It was Theodore Nott," said Draco plainly. "I know it was. He's had it in for me ever since the first day back."

"If you're right, I'm turning him in to McGonagall," said Potter darkly.

"No you're not," Draco admonished sharply. "She won't believe you without proof."

Potter bit his lip. "Then I'll have to find it. You can help me. You want him to be caught too, don't you?"

"No, I want revenge."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Figured as much."

"You would, too," Draco muttered. Then, turning away from Potter, he carefully unbuttoned his shirt and gazed down at his bare chest. It still bore a faint outline of the word "TRAITOR". Draco supposed it would never completely fade away, and in a way, he didn't really mind. It was true, after all.

"If it's any consolation, I don't think you're a traitor," Potter offered, reading Draco's mind.

"It's not, and I am," Draco replied simply. He traced the "T" with his index finger, wondering how Nott had managed to do it, while wishing he could remember what had happened. He didn't want to admit it to Potter, but he was scared – scared to go back to class, scared to face his condescending classmates and teachers, scared that something like the previous night's assault could happen again.

"You all right, Malfoy?" Potter asked him quietly.

Draco didn't say anything. Instead, he buttoned up his shirt, turned around, and sat down on the other side of the bed so that his and Potter's backs were facing each other. Bowing his head, he said, "You can see the rest of my list. I finished it today."

"You don't – have to show me."

"I know. Which is why you'd better accept the offer before I withdraw it."

Potter laughed. "Right. Hand it over, then."

Draco reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled it out. He regarded it briefly, and then held it over his shoulder without looking. He felt Potter's hand grasp the other end and take it.

_Well, this is the end_, he thought morosely. _Once Potter sees the rest of that list, he'll know my deepest, darkest secrets._

And with that, Draco bid a silent farewell to his comfortable world of solitude. From that moment on, it would have to make room for Potter.

---

Harry felt strangely intrusive as he carefully unfolded Malfoy's list. Last time he had done it for the sole purpose of getting under Malfoy's skin, but this time Malfoy was willingly letting him see it – and for some reason, that made all the difference in the world.

"Well, here I go," he said lamely, once he had spread the parchment out on his lap. Malfoy didn't say anything. Taking this as a sign that he could continue, Harry began reading.

_1. Be invisible. _

_2. Climb a tree all the way to the top._

_3. Ride a Thestral._

_4. Get drunk._

_5. Hold a civil conversation with a member of each house._

_6. __Kiss my worst enemy._

_7. Read __Hogwarts: A History_

_8. Sleep under the stars._

_9. Brew Felix Felicis._

_10. Conquer my worst fear._

_11. Spend a night in the Shrieking Shack._

_12. Visit Mother in Azkaban._

_13. Save someone's life._

_14. Skip classes for one day with no excuse._

_15. Learn to swim._

_16. __Make a snow angel._

_17. Watch a sunset and the next morning's sunrise._

_18. Get my ears pierced._

_19. Open presents by a Christmas tree._

_20. Avenge Father's death._

_21. Be a Secret Keeper._

_22. Fall in love._

_23. Be loved in return._

_24. Beat Harry Potter._

_25. Witness a miracle._

Harry stared at the list in stunned silence. He reread it numbly, his lips moving silently to mouth the words written on the page. Finally, he said slowly, "This is… different."

"Your grasp of the obvious is overwhelming." Despite his sarcastic remark, though, Malfoy sounded more vulnerable than he had ever sounded in Harry's presence.

"You really wrote this?"

"No, I nicked it from a Dementor while I was waiting in my lovely cell in Azkaban," Malfoy retorted. "Of course I wrote it, Potter."

"But it's so…"

"Unlike me? Yes, I'm quite aware. Hence, it's a list of things I haven't yet done."

Turning so that he was facing Malfoy's back, Harry asked, "Why did you let me see it?"

Malfoy twisted around slightly, just enough for Harry to see his profile as he spoke. "Well, if you're going to help me…"

"Yeah," Harry said softly. He hesitated, and then handed the list back to Malfoy. Malfoy reached over his shoulder to take it, causing his fingers to brush against Harry's in a way that made Harry jerk his hand back and avert his eyes.

Malfoy stood up abruptly and shoved the list back into his pocket. "Potter, I need my wand," he said coolly.

"I don't know where it is," said Harry, taken aback by the abrupt change in the tone of their conversation. "Pomfrey's probably got it in her office or something."

Malfoy eyed the closed office door. "Is it locked?"

"I wouldn't know," Harry replied irritably, "I've never tried to break into it." He stood up as well. "I'll take it that's my cue to leave, then."

"Mmm," said Malfoy absently, approaching Madam Pomfrey's office without glancing in Harry's direction.

Harry felt a flicker of annoyance, but then it went away, and he walked over to the exit. He stopped there, cleared his throat, and said, "Bye, Malfoy."

"Wait, Potter, can I use your –"

Harry smirked and shut the door to Malfoy's question. "No, you can't use my wand to unlock it," he whispered.

---

Harry was in a rather good mood Monday morning at breakfast, and Ron was the first one to notice.

"So what's the occasion, Harry?" he asked, reaching over the textbook Hermione had open on the table in front of her to snatch a roll.

"How do you mean?" Harry asked mildly. He took a roll as well and began buttering it.

"You're grinning," Ron pointed out.

Harry bit into his roll and chewed placidly. "Yeah, I suppose I am."

"It's because we're going to celebrate my birthday tomorrow," Ginny piped from across the table.

"Your birthday is tomorrow?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "No, Harry, it's in August. You know that."

Harry laughed sheepishly. "Sorry. I'm not very good with dates."

"He takes after Ron," Hermione observed without looking up from her textbook.

"Surprise, surprise," Ginny grumbled. She grabbed Harry's roll, took a bite, and put it back on his plate. "Anyway, you wouldn't believe the number of girls who have come up to me and asked me for your autograph, Harry."

"Really?" Harry asked distractedly. His eyes were fixed on the Slytherin table at the other end of the hall. Malfoy hadn't shown up, and Harry couldn't help wondering if he was all right.

"Mmhmm. I wouldn't be surprised if they're plotting to steal you for themselves behind my back."

"Like that's going to happen," said Harry, tearing his gaze away from Malfoy's empty seat to kiss the top of Ginny's head. "You can tell them that I'm not interested in anyone but Ginny Weasley."

Ron cleared his throat pointedly. Ignoring him, Ginny kissed Harry on the cheek. "I've got to run up to the library and check something for Transfiguration before classes start," she said, standing up.

She waved good-bye to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and then walked away.

"We met with Lupin the other day," said Ron casually, once Ginny was gone and Harry had resumed his breakfast.

Harry blinked in surprise. "Really? What for?"

"Updates on what's going on with the Order. He wanted you to come along too, but you were with…" Ron trailed off, an expression of uncertainty on his face, but Harry knew whose name Ron had been about to utter.

"Oh, what're they doing?" Harry asked, skilfully steering the conversation back to its original subject. He hadn't heard anything about the Order's clean-up efforts since the night he, Ron, and Hermione had been reunited at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Well, they're presently working on restoring St. Mungo's. It's a mess, and the Healers are going to need the facilities to heal some of the more severe injuries," Hermione explained. She carefully closed her book and put it back into her book bag. "They're also trying to locate the werewolves' hideout. Apparently Fenrir's got his followers and most of the remaining Death Eaters hidden somewhere Unplottable."

Harry nodded, glancing once more over Ron's shoulder at the Slytherin table as he lowered his head and returned to his breakfast. Malfoy still hadn't shown up. Harry quashed the knot of worry in his stomach and reminded himself that even he didn't go to breakfast every day. Considering his recent injury, it was more likely that Malfoy was trying to get as much rest as possible before classes began.

Soon, Ron and Hermione were standing up and getting ready to head to the greenhouses for Herbology. Just before they left, Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder and said, "See you at Charms?"

"Yeah, see you," said Harry. "You too, Hermione."

Harry waited until most of the Great Hall had cleared out to leave. He had a free period, so he didn't have to worry about getting to class on time. What he did have to worry about, however, was coming up with ways to pass the hour and a half he had ahead of him.

_I suppose I could get started on that Potions project_, he thought reluctantly. Up until then, he had let Hermione do all the research, but he knew he'd have to get involved eventually. Then again, he knew as much about the history of the Wolfsbane Potion as Ron knew about his involvement in Malfoy's trial, so he was probably doing Hermione a favour by leaving the project up to her.

"Well, this is productive," Harry muttered, as he ascended the stairs to the first floor without a destination in mind. "Maybe I should've taken Herbology after all…"

Harry had walked aimlessly around the first floor for an hour or so and was nearly at the top of the stairs leading to the second floor when he came upon two girls walking in the opposite direction. As he moved aside to let them pass, he caught a snippet of their whispered conversation.

"…never came back, did he?"

"Nope. Word is that he slept somewhere else in the school because he was too scared to face Nott, Harper, and the rest of them."

"Who's surprised? We all knew he was a coward."

"Well, they'll be waiting for him outside the common room this period, since he's bound to go back to get his things. He'll get what he deserves."

"Shall we go watch?"

"Yeah, come on…"

Harry froze, his grip on the railing tightening. Nott and Harper were both Slytherins, and from the sound of those two girls' conversation, they had it out for another Slytherin. Was it possible… could that Slytherin be…?

Even though he knew it was none of his business, Harry found himself turning around and hurrying back down the stairs after the girls. The Slytherins were usually nothing but talk, but Harry knew they could be dangerous when they were given reason to follow through with their threats – and, judging from the condition Malfoy had been in after the attack, Harry had no doubt that Malfoy had given them plenty reason to be serious.

_More like _I_ gave them plenty reason to be serious_, Harry thought grimly, as he ran down the Entrance Hall to the stairs leading down to the dungeons, _and now I'm paying for it by having to rescue Malfoy every two seconds._

It turned out, however, that Harry didn't need to rescue Malfoy after all. Just before he reached the stairs, he saw Malfoy at the other end of the hall, heading for the same flight of stairs.

"Malfoy!" Harry called, sliding to a stop.

Malfoy gave Harry an odd look. He looked somewhat paler than usual, but otherwise the same as he had before the assault. "What do you want, Potter?" he said, stopping in front of Harry.

"You can't go downstairs to the common room." Harry realised how stupid he sounded, and hastened to add, "I heard some girls talking about how Nott and his lot are waiting for you down there."

Malfoy's expression was unreadable. For a while, he stared at Harry blankly. Then he laughed and said, "What do you _really_ want?"

"Don't be a prat, Malfoy," Harry snapped. "You know perfectly well that I'm telling the truth."

"Why do you care, then?"

"Because every time you get into trouble, I always wind up with the responsibility of getting you out of it! As enjoyable as it is, I'd rather not go through the process of scraping your hexed and beaten body off the floor and bringing you up to the Hospital Wing again."

Malfoy made a disgusted face. "Thanks for the imagery, Potter."

"Well, if you don't want it to be reality, stay away from them," Harry snapped.

"As much as I would love to, I need –"

"Bullshit." Harry moved over slightly so that he was blocking the entrance to the stairs. "You don't need anything. In fact, I heard you didn't go down there the entire weekend because you were too scared to."

Malfoy flushed pink. "Of course I went down there," he said indignantly. "How do you think I got my robes and my bag?"

"Doesn't matter. You went when no one was around to see you, which proves you were scared."

"That's a fairly hasty conclusion, Potter. I wouldn't be so quick to judge someone else based on a few mere assumptions." Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "Now get out of my way, or I'm going to be late for class."

As if to prove Malfoy's words, the bell signalling the end of the current period rang.

"Dammit," he swore. He glared at Harry, as if Harry was to blame for all his misfortunes. "Now I don't have my Potions things."

"You still have your textbook," said Harry, pointing at the corner of _Advanced Potion-Making_ sticking out of Malfoy's bookbag. "And if you need anything else, I'll give it to you. We're in the same class, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Malfoy retorted.

But as Malfoy grudgingly gestured for Harry to lead the way, Harry couldn't help noticing the muscles in his jaw slacken with relief. Harry smiled to himself. Malfoy really was getting worse at hiding these kinds of things.

When they arrived at the Potions dungeon, most of the class was already seated. Slughorn was, as always, late. Harry walked in and sat down next to Hermione. He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Malfoy waited a good minute or so before entering the classroom as well.

_Always the strategist_, he thought, shaking his head slightly.

"How has your day been so far, Harry?" Hermione asked him conversationally, as she pulled out her notes from the day before and spread them out in front of her. "Did you go see Malfoy?"

"Er… why d'you ask?" said Harry nervously. Was it really getting to the point where his meetings, for lack of a better word, with Malfoy were considered, for lack of a better word, _normal_?

Hermione gave him a curious look. "I just thought that you'd want to check up on him and see if he was all right after the attack."

"Oh, yeah, of course. I mean, no. We sort of just… ran into each other."

"You seem to be doing a lot of that lately," said Hermione lightly. "By the way, Harry, have you thought about how you want to present our project on the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Um… sure," Harry lied. Hermione nodded expectantly, signalling for him to go on. "Well, I thought that maybe we could start by –"

But at that moment, Harry was interrupted by a large round of catcalls and cheers from the other side of the room, followed by Theodore Nott's jeering voice saying, "So where were you last night, Malfoy?"

Harry looked up in time to see Malfoy shoot Nott a disdainful look that did not completely mask his trepidation. "Don't tell me you stayed up all night waiting for me, Nott," he replied, feigning mock concern.

Harry couldn't help it – he smirked. Nott, however, didn't seem to find the remark so amusing. His crow-like face twisted into an unsightly scowl, and he spat, "You didn't come back to the common room, you coward."

"No, I didn't." Draco reached into his bag and pulled out his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ with a convincing air of calmness, but Harry could see that his hands were shaking. "I was too busy getting the lovely present you left me" – he gestured at his chest – "patched up to waste time in the common room."

"Oh, we heard all about it. Seems you and Potter had a cosy night together in the Hospital Wing."

Malfoy winced noticeably, and Harry instinctively looked away. Hermione looked very worried, but she appeared to be at a loss for ways to safely break up the exchange.

"You'd better not have done anything to Harry, you filthy traitor!"

Harry twisted around in his seat. One of the Gryffindors, a thin-faced girl named Victoria Stimpson, had spoken up. Though Harry had always gotten along with her well enough, he now felt a sudden rush of anger towards her and made a mental note to refuse her an autograph if she ever asked for one.

"Poor, helpless Malfoy… had to be rescued by the mighty Harry Potter…" another voice from the Slytherin side of the room sneered.

Harry clenched his fists under the table, unable to bring himself to look at Malfoy. Hermione seemed to notice Harry's tenseness, because she whispered anxiously, "Harry, you _mustn't_ do anything!"

_That's right, Harry_, the ever-persistent voice in the back of his mind agreed. _Think of all the times Malfoy was the one doing the bullying… It's about time he got a taste of his own medicine…_

"What, you're not going to give us details, Malfoy? Bet you enjoyed –"

"Why don't you shut up, Nott?" Before Harry could consider the consequences of interfering, he was spitting out the words that had been hovering on the tip of his tongue. "Just because you don't have a chance of spending the night with me doesn't mean you need to take it out on other people."

A few of the people sitting behind Harry snickered, and Hermione hissed something unintelligible, but the rest of the dungeon fell silent. All eyes were now on Harry.

"What did you just say, Potter?" said Nott slowly.

"I _said_, it looks to me like you're the real coward here," Harry shot back coldly.

Nott pushed his chair back so roughly that it fell over and stood up. "And how exactly would the courageous Harry Potter know so much about cowardice?" he snarled over the head of one of his friends, ignoring said friend's efforts to get him to sit back down.

Instead of getting to his feet as well, Harry turned his face towards the front of the classroom, stared determinedly at a jar of dead beetles sitting on Slughorn's desk, and said evenly, "Considering the number of cowards I fought during the war, I'd say I know enough to call them as I see them."

"Why, you –"

The classroom door banged open before Nott could finish his insult. "Good morning, class!" Slughorn exclaimed cheerfully as he sauntered inside. "Mr Nott, why don't you seat yourself?"

"Yes, sir," Nott mumbled. He scrambled to pick up his chair, but not before shooting Harry a venomous glare. Harry returned it unflinchingly.

"Well then," Slughorn said cheerfully, placing his palms on his desk and leaning forward, "today we will continue our work on medical magic. If anyone would like to give us a brief introduction to the Mandrake Draught…"

Harry barely noticed when Hermione raised her hand and began to explain, with a level of excitement unrivalled by anyone else in the classroom, the properties of the Mandrake Draught. He had closed his ears to the lesson at hand, and was busy watching Malfoy for signs of acknowledgment.

It seemed, however, that Malfoy was determined to avoid Harry's eye. For the remaining three hours of the double period, he worked diligently on his Mandrake Draught and never once glanced in Harry's direction. Even when Harry had the shredded salamander skin he needed, he pointedly walked around the table and asked Hermione (in tones that would have been considered polite, had he not added "Mudblood" to the end of his request) to pass it over.

By the time Slughorn announced that it was time to pack up, Harry was seething over the predictable injustice of Malfoy's behaviour. He had just saved Malfoy's arse from the resident bullies, and yet Malfoy didn't even have the decency to be grateful.

_Don't think you're going to get off this easily, Malfoy_, Harry thought darkly as he angrily packed up his ginger roots. _I'll get a sincere "thank you" out of you, even if it's the last thing I do.  
_

**A/N:** Pay attention to the ending of this chapter... it'll be important later on ;)


	12. A Favour

_You can't shake hands with a clenched fist._

- Indira Gandhi

**Chapter 11:** A Favour

The days passed fairly uneventfully. Malfoy continued to dart away or deliberately avert his eyes whenever he spotted Harry in the hallways or elsewhere. Harry supposed this was an improvement to being slammed against a tree and snogged mercilessly without warning, but it was a far cry from what he wanted. Then again, aside from some acknowledgement and perhaps even appreciation, he didn't know _what_ he wanted from Malfoy, so his dissatisfaction wasn't _really_ Malfoy's fault. Blaming it on Malfoy, though, was easier than blaming it on himself, so he continued to do so.

"Harry?" said Ginny, one Tuesday afternoon in the crowded Gryffindor common room. December had arrived with a vengeance the day before, and the frosty weather had chased most of the Hogwarts students into their common rooms earlier than usual.

"Hmm?" said Harry, as he chewed on the end of his quill, wondering how best to start his essay on the benefits and risks of weather alteration spells.

Ginny put down the textbook she was taking notes from. "I was wondering if you've decided whether you're going to stay here over the holidays yet," she said nonchalantly.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" Harry asked distractedly. Frowning at the sheet of parchment on his lap, he scrawled down a few words and then crossed them out. He had a faint suspicion that Professor Flitwick wouldn't appreciate his beginning his paper with "I don't know anything about this subject".

"Oh, I don't know. I thought maybe you'd like to come to headquarters with us."

Weather alteration spells were suddenly the last thing on Harry's mind. "You're going to headquarters?" he demanded, his eyes snapping up to meet Ginny's.

"With Ron and Hermione." She grinned. "Lupin wanted us to tell you."

"How come he didn't tell me himself?" Harry grumbled. "He hasn't been avoiding me, has he? I hardly ever see him outside of class, and even in class, the most he ever says to me is 'Harry, keep your attention focused on the target'."

"Isn't that his job?" said Ginny teasingly. She laughed, and Harry was glad to note that it was a real, genuine laugh. Being at Hogwarts had distracted Ginny from thinking about her parents and the war, giving her the time she had needed to return to being her former lively, forthright self. For that Harry was grateful. After all, even if he wasn't entirely content, it was still reassuring to know that Ginny was.

"Anyway," said Harry, getting to his feet, "I think I'll go visit Lupin right now."

"What will I tell Hermione if she asks about _that_?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow and pointing at Harry's unfinished essay.

"Tell her she can write it for me, since that's what she always seems to end up doing."

"You really are turning into Ron," Ginny joked. "Careful you don't sprout red hair and a few more inches, or I'll have to start fending off Hermione, too."

Harry laughed. "I don't think you have to worry about that happening anytime soon. Besides," he added, adopting a mock-serious tone, "red hair would clash terribly with my eyes."

"Very true," Ginny agreed solemnly. "Anyway, let me know about your plans for Christmas break at supper, will you?"

"Right," said Harry, though he had no doubt that he would be accompanying his friends to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. "See you then."

He gave her a quick peck on the lips and then left the common room. The hallways were relatively empty, so he made it to Lupin's office without any trouble.

At first there was no response when Harry knocked on the door. Then, just as Harry was about to turn around and return disappointedly to the common room, Lupin's muffled voice beckoned him into the office.

Harry grasped the door handle, pushed the door open, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He looked around and saw Lupin sitting at his desk, his head in his hands as he read what appeared to be a newspaper clipping. When Harry entered, he looked up.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, sounding surprised but pleased all the same. He gestured at the chintz armchair across from him. "Sit down."

"Hi, Professor Lupin," said Harry. He crossed the small room and seated himself where Lupin had indicated. "I'm not interrupting you, am I?"

"No, no, not at all." As if to prove it, Lupin folded the article he had been reading and slid it aside. "And call me Remus – there's no need for you to be formal when we're in here. So, what brings you here this evening?" he enquired, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them as he gazed at Harry questioningly from behind his desk.

Harry shrugged. "I thought I'd drop by and see you. It's been a while since we talked outside of class."

"It certainly has." Lupin leaned back in his armchair and smiled pleasantly at Harry. "How are your classes?"

"The same as always," Harry replied. "It's good to have you back, Prof – Remus."

"It's good to be back, and as your new Head of House, too."

"Yeah, everyone's really glad it's you," said Harry, grinning. "They were scared we'd end up with Professor Slughorn."

Lupin chuckled. "He's not that bad, is he? Sirius and James rather liked him back during our schooldays."

"Really?" Noticing the guilty look on Lupin's face, Harry hastily added, "Don't worry, I don't mind talking about them. It's nice hearing stories about your years at Hogwarts."

Lupin nodded in a relieved sort of way and continued. "Well, as you know, Slughorn is quite fond of picking and choosing favourites. Every year he goes around and selects whom he considers to be the brightest, cleverest students to join his inner circle, for lack of a better term. I believe it's referred to as the –"

"Slug Club," Harry finished. "Yeah, I know."

"Yes, the Slug Club. Well, as you have probably already guessed, James and Sirius were two of the – I suppose you could say – fortunate souls to be taken under Slughorn's wing."

"Why weren't you?" Harry asked curiously. "I thought you were near the top of your class."

"I was, but I wasn't enough of a character by Slughorn's standards. You see, he wanted students who were not only academically superior, but witty, popular, unique, and, above all, brimming with potential to be the next big celebrity, as well. Unfortunately, I wasn't one of them." He smiled at Harry's indignant expression. "Oh, I didn't mind. Being the centre of attention was never really my forte."

"Slughorn's never said anything about my dad, though," said Harry. "He's mentioned my mum loads of times, but never my dad."

"That's because by the end of the year, Sirius and James were his two least favourite students in the school."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "But I thought you said they liked him."

"They liked him because it was easy to play tricks on him," Lupin corrected. "After they swapped Davey Gudgeon's armadillo bile for Erumpent fluid, however, he threatened to have them expelled. Needless to say, that was the end of their Slug Club days."

Harry laughed as he pictured Slughorn standing over a smoking cauldron, his moustache singed and his round belly quivering with anger. "That must've been some Potions class."

"That would be putting it mildly." Lupin shook his head, and the reminiscent gleam in his eyes disappeared. "Anyway, enough of that. Did you have anything in particular you wanted to discuss with me, Harry?"

"Well," said Harry slowly, "there is one thing… Ron and Hermione told me they visited you and you gave them updates on the Order's efforts."

"I did. I suspect they've already relayed all the information they received from me to you."

"They have. But that's not the thing I wanted to ask you about. Ginny said that they're planning to stay at headquarters over the Christmas holidays."

"Yes, we did make that arrangement while they were here."

Harry frowned, feeling somewhat resentful about being left out of their plans. "Can I go too?"

"I don't see why not," said Lupin.

Harry waited, but Lupin did not elaborate on his invitation. "Should I ask them for details, then?" he said, trying to mask his rising annoyance.

Lupin reached across the desk and laid a palm on Harry's arm in a fatherly manner. As if reading Harry's mind, he said gently, "Harry, if you feel like we're excluding you in any way, you can come right out and say it…"

"I don't," said Harry loudly, getting to his feet.

But Lupin's tone was a little too understanding as he replied, "Very well." He motioned for Harry to sit back down. "One more thing, Harry, before you go."

"What is it?" Harry asked, obediently seating himself despite his less than pleasant feelings towards Lupin at the moment.

"Two, actually. Firstly, how are you feeling?"

"Perfectly fine."

"I don't mean just on the surface," said Lupin cryptically. He studied Harry gravely. "I'd be lying if I told you I knew everything that happened between you and Voldemort the night you defeated him, but I do know that you were clinging to life by a fine thread when we found you afterwards. Something significant happened that night, and even though I won't press you for the particulars – it's up to you whether or not you want to disclose them – I'd still like to make sure you're all right."

"Of course I'm all right," said Harry, his irritation surfacing again. "I have a few nightmares every now and then, but who doesn't?"

"True," said Lupin, leaning back once more. He seemed satisfied by Harry's answer, as curtly as it had been delivered. "The second matter I would like to bring up, then, is your friendship with Draco Malfoy."

"It's not a friendship," Harry replied automatically.

Lupin looked thoughtful. "Hermione told me –"

"She's wrong," Harry interrupted. "He did me a favour, I repaid it by giving McGonagall's case an extra vote at his trial, and now I'm helping him get back on his feet."

"That's very kind of you, Harry," said Lupin carefully, "but Draco is a Death Eater."

"Was. He was a Death Eater." Harry shrugged his shoulders as casually as he could manage. "It doesn't really matter, anyway. Nothing's changed between us. It's just a couple of debts that need to be settled."

"I see," Lupin murmured, more to himself than to Harry.

"Actually… there is one thing…" Harry began to say, remembering his dream and how it had accurately warned him of Malfoy's condition. He was certain that it hadn't been a mere coincidence, but was at a loss for possible explanations. Ron had mentioned asking Lupin for his opinion, citing the professor's experience in "these things" as reason to consult him. Now, however, Harry realised that doing so would mean having to explain everything all over again, and promptly changed his mind about bringing the subject up. Perhaps another time, when he was feeling less disgruntled towards his professor.

"Yes?" Lupin prompted.

Harry cleared his throat. "Er… congratulations. About the engagement, that is," he said, referring to Lupin's recent proposal to Tonks, the news of which had been brought to Harry by Hermione.

Lupin's weary face broke into a wide smile. "Thank you, Harry."

"Yeah," said Harry, feeling slightly guilty for snapping at Lupin. _It's not his fault I'm so paranoid these days._

Lupin nodded. "Well, then, I trust you have other matters to attend to, so I'll let you go. Please feel free to drop by whenever you want."

"I will." Harry got to his feet, walked over to the door, and reached for the doorknob. Just before he left, he paused, wondering if he should tell Lupin about Malfoy's list. There wasn't anything particularly threatening about it, but nevertheless, it seemed like something a member of the staff should know about, especially since it was in the hands of a fugitive.

"Harry?" said Lupin enquiringly, noticing Harry's hesitation.

_Malfoy trusted you when he showed that list… in his own obscure, grudging way, that is._

"It's nothing, Remus," said Harry, pulling the door open and stepping outside. "See in you class tomorrow."

---

Meanwhile, in the back of the library, Draco was busy reading _Hogwarts: A History_. He had dashed up to his usual reading spot the moment the bell signalling the end of Defence Against the Dark Arts had rung, both because, according to the deadline he had set for himself at the beginning of the year, he only had one day left to finish the fourth section, of which he was presently only half-way through, and because Potter had showed every intention of saying something to him as everyone filed out of the room.

Naturally, after the Nott incident in the dungeon, the last thing Draco wanted to do was confirm that he and Potter were associating with each other in their free time. It had been humiliating enough returning to the common room that day after classes; enduring the taunts and threats from his housemates had been unbearable, so much that Draco had forsaken all attempts to be dignified and stand up for himself, and hurried down to his dormitory like the pathetic coward he was. He had realised then that perhaps he really _did_ need Potter by his side after all. As much as Draco hated to face it, Potter had the advantage of an influential name, whereas the only thing Draco's name influenced now was contempt.

Draco stared resolutely at the words on the yellowed pages before him, trying to forget the disturbing thoughts plaguing his concentration and focus on the task at hand. He would _not_ let Potter interfere with his efforts to achieve the goals on his list, directly or not.

_They say this book will tell you everything you'll ever want to know, but I definitely could have done without knowing that Slytherin and Gryffindor were rumoured to be lovers,_ Draco thought, making a disgusted face down at a large, faded picture of Slytherin's snarling face. _Who knew the founders were so…_

He stopped mid-thought, for he had turned the page to find an equally-large image of Godric Gryffindor. "Handsome," he finished softly, taking in the founder's striking features with a mixture of surprise and awe.

Before Draco had time to realise that he'd just called another wizard handsome, he was rudely interrupted by an amused voice saying, "Saying it out loud won't make it come true."

Draco didn't even have to turn around to recognise the voice and experience the familiar sinking sensation in his stomach that he had grown to associate with it.

"Potter," he said flatly.

"All right, Malfoy?" Potter asked coolly, walking around Draco to the other side of the table, placing both palms on the wooden surface, and leaning forward.

Draco forced himself to continue reading the page opposite Gryffindor's picture so as to appear uninterested, but the words registered by his eyes failed to reach his brain. "Didn't think the library was your scene, Potter," he said casually. "Figured you'd go for something more… extravagant; something more worthy of your larger-than-life existence."

"It's your lucky day, then," Potter replied. Without asking for Draco's permission, he pulled the chair next to him out from under the table and sat down. Glancing over at Draco's reading material, he added, "Hermione really likes that book."

"I'm sure she would," said Draco scathingly.

"I take it you've been avoiding me."

"You don't waste a second, do you, Potter?" Draco snapped. He flipped the page. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. I'm sure you know the reason why, too, so spare me the interrogation and just get on with whatever you came here to do."

Potter rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled scroll of parchment, rolled up loosely. "My Charms essay," he explained, waving it about.

"Good for you." Draco pointed at one of the cubicles pushed up against the far wall of the study area. "Go finish it."

"I thought I'd do it here," said Potter, shrugging. He raised his eyebrows at Draco. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Actually, I –"

"Great," said Potter cheerfully. He dropped his bookbag on the floor, bent over, and pulled out a bottle of ink and a quill. Humming tunelessly, he unrolled his essay, scrutinised it for a brief moment, and then began writing.

Draco stared at Potter incredulously. He couldn't be serious. There was no way he was serious. But, as the minutes dragged on, it appeared that he _was_ serious, and that he really did intend to sit at Draco's table and write his bloody Charms essay.

"Fine!" Draco huffed, pushing his chair back. "_I'll_ leave."

Potter looked up. "Come now, Malfoy," he said, with the air of one explaining to a toddler why it was necessary to defecate in the toilet, "we're not first years. We can resolve our differences without resorting to childish measures like running away."

"I'm not running away," Draco said angrily, but he sat down anyway. "Honestly, Potter, I really don't have time for this. In case you haven't noticed, _Hogwarts: A History_ is a very long book, and –"

"Yeah, I've noticed," Potter cut in, eying the thick text apprehensively. "Anyway, what I really want to say is, I reckon we should stop playing this little game of cat and mouse and figure out what we're going to do."

"You came up here to tell me that?" Draco scoffed. "Or is the happily married couple too busy snogging in every deserted corner to pay you the unconditional attention you crave?"

Potter scowled. "No, I really did come up here to finish my essay. Happening across you was just a fortunate accident."

"Well, that's the first time anyone's ever said _that_," Draco replied sarcastically. "Go on, then. What do you propose? I personally fancy the option of never seeing each other again."

"That's not one of the choices on the table," Potter said, rolling his eyes. "I mean, think about it… I know all of your deepest, darkest secrets and desires. Or at least twenty-five of them. You can't cast me away with that fact in mind, can you?"

Draco frowned. "A quick Memory Charm would do the trick of erasing everything from your memory."

Potter waved this possibility aside airily. "Besides," he said rationally, "considering how well the option of ignoring me worked out the other five thousand times you tried it, I reckon it's not your best bet."

"What do you suggest, then?" Draco snapped. "As much as we'd both like you to, you can't go back in time and erase the damage you've already done."

"I know," said Potter quickly, "which is why I think we should go along with it. I mean, the trial was all over the news, and everyone in this school knows that I was the one who brought you to the Hospital Wing after you were attacked by now. So why bother pretending that we're still enemies? You said yourself that you didn't mind being seen with me, so why the sudden change in attitude?"

"We _are_ still enemies," Draco said emphatically.

"First of all, no, we're not enemies. The war is over. Enemies, friends, acquaintances… all of that is in the past. We may not like each other very much; that definitely hasn't changed; but we're not _enemies_ – at least not in the formal sense of the word – anymore."

"I suppose you gave that very speech to all the Death Eaters your Ministry captured right before you sent them off to receive the Dementor's Kiss," said Draco mockingly.

"Second of all," Potter continued, as if there had been no interruption, "what exactly is your problem? Why do you shy away every time I go out of my way to help you?"

Draco laughed out loud. "Haven't you noticed by now that your attempts to help me are having the opposite effect?"

"What the hell do you want me to say? 'Sorry for defending you when you were too scared to stand up for yourself'? I don't know how that could've possibly done you bad," Potter ground out.

"You weren't there with me in the common room later that day," said Draco quietly.

The faintest flash of concern sliced through Potter's eyes, but he simply hmphed and said nothing.

Sighing, Draco tried a different approach. "So what exactly are you trying to get at, Potter?"

"The same thing I told you on Friday – that we should stop trying to hide from the rest of the school."

"You're making it sound like we're having an affair," Draco snorted.

Potter turned a deep shade of red. "Not in a million years, Malfoy."

"Well, I refuse."

"What do you mean, you refuse?" Potter demanded.

"I've changed my mind. I refuse to acknowledge 'us'," said Draco stubbornly. "So what if they know about what you've done? I can still deny it; I can still pretend that I had no part in it. It's not easy for me, you know, Potter. You can strut around and boast about your valiant efforts to help the resident criminal turn his life around all you want, but if I show any signs of willingly accepting your… your _charity_…"

Draco paused to catch his breath. Potter seized this brief cessation in Draco's rant to slip in a few words.

"What?" he challenged. "You'll have to face the disapproval of your housemates?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Sorry to say it, Malfoy, but they've already disowned you. You're lost to them. You've nowhere to go but up. If anything, being –"

"Don't say it," Draco interrupted swiftly, almost afraid to hear the unspoken word lingering on the tip of Potter's tongue.

"Don't say what?" Potter asked, his tone bemused.

"That we're friends, Potter, because Merlin knows we're not."

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Malfoy," Potter retorted. "I was going to say that being in my favour will at least spare you some of the nasty remarks made by the three quarters of this school that reveres me."

"My, aren't we modest…"

In a heartbeat, Potter's eyes took on their familiar guarded appearance. "When the whole world says it, you feel obliged to believe it, too," he said quietly.

Disoriented by the sudden shift in Potter's mood, Draco did the only thing he could: he hastily brought the conversation back to its original subject. "That still leaves the question of why you're doing this in the first place. You have nothing to gain from promoting my image."

"How many times do we have to go over this?" said Potter, showing signs of impatience for the first time since he sat down, uninvited, at Draco's study table. "I told you in the Hospital Wing after you showed me your list. You get something out of my name, and that's all that really matters. Isn't that one of the rules Malfoys live by? 'Exploit others for personal gain'?"

Draco sighed and turned his eyes back to _Hogwarts: A History_, at a loss for biting remarks to say to Potter. He glanced fleetingly at Helga Hufflepuff's chubby-cheeked face, and promptly skipped past hers and Rowena Ravenclaw's sections, wondering all the while what the hell he _could_ say. He hated to admit it, but even Potter's former miserable, angst-ridden self was preferable to this… this altruistic idiot. Since when did Potter give a fuck about Draco's well-being?

_Since that night in the snow when he let me stay outside, apparently_, he recalled. _Or maybe even since the trip to Hogsmeade incident. Or…_

No. Draco didn't dare think it possible. He knew very well that Potter had only voted to save Draco's life at the trial because he had felt obligated to. Thus, the change in his motives must have taken place sometime after they arrived at Hogwarts.

A sense of panic raced down Draco's spine as it occurred to him that maybe Potter was clinging to him because he was too afraid to face his own weaknesses and insecurities. Could it be that he was using Draco's pathetic existence to boost his own confidence? It didn't make any sense, but it was the only explanation Draco could come up with…

But Draco's frantic attempts to explain Potter's actions dissolved away into irrelevant thoughts as it slowly dawned upon him that he didn't _care_ why Potter was suddenly behaving so selflessly. In fact, he almost didn't want to know. Just believing that someone was willing to go all out to make his life that much easier was strangely reassuring. _Even_ if that someone was Harry Potter… or maybe _because_ it was Harry Potter, because the truth was that Draco was secretly soothed by Potter's unrelenting presence in his ever-shortening life, and the possibility of losing that presence by endeavouring to put reason to it really wasn't appealing at all.

Then again, perhaps the whole thing truly was just a charade to mask selfish intentions. This possibility worried Draco so much that he couldn't help blurting out, "What about the Weasleys? I was… you saw me there that night. I helped kill them."

"No, Malfoy, you didn't," said Potter firmly. The caution in his eyes had melted away, exposing two green pools of something that was almost sincerity, but not quite, because it still held traces of the suspicion everyone wore in Draco's presence. "You really think I'd be here and you'd still be alive if you had played a role, minor or not, in their deaths? As far as I know, you weren't a member of the group of Death Eaters who took them, and you never laid a hand on either of them the entire time they… when I was in the clearing, that is. You're innocent."

"I'm not!" Draco insisted, not sure why it bothered him so much that Potter thought him to be blameless.

"Young man, if you would please respect the peace and quiet of the library!" Madam Pince hissed as she shuffled by, her arms full of books.

Dropping his voice to a whisper, Draco said again, "I'm not. You heard the wizard in charge of my trial. I've killed. I've tortured. I _had_ this" – he jabbed at his left forearm, which now bore only the faintest scar of the serpent-tongued skull that had once resided there – "to prove it."

"It was war… You think I didn't kill too?" Potter asked. He roughly pushed Draco's right hand away from his left arm. "The circumstances were different then. What matters now is that you don't have the mark to remind you anymore. Don't you want to start anew?"

"What's the point?" said Draco bitterly. "I'm going to lose everything in seven months anyway."

"Then at least make your life one worth losing. Turn it into a life someone would mourn the end of."

"Ever the saint," Draco mocked. He swept his fingers through his hair and exhaled deeply. He could think of no other cause to protest. He and Potter had already forged an unofficial agreement that, in order to reconcile his guilt, Potter should help Draco to achieve his ambitions, and there really wasn't any reason for Draco to go back on it.

"So can we go back a week and forget the whole thing in the dungeon?" Potter asked, almost hopefully.

Draco closed his book, bent over, and busied himself with putting it back into his bookbag, so as to hide the relief he knew was showing on his face. Straightening up, he slung his bag over one shoulder and stood up. "Sure," he said nonchalantly, as he began heading for the exit.

Potter got up and followed Draco, his Charms essay apparently forgotten. "I almost forgot… What exactly are you planning to do over break?"

"Go home to my spacious country manor and spend Christmas in my warm, cosy sitting room, opening presents and consuming hot cocoa with my loving, affectionate family."

Potter stared at Draco for a long moment. "That's really not funny at all, Malfoy," he finally said.

"What do you think I'm going to do, Potter? I don't exactly have all the options in the world laid out in front of me," Draco snarled, quickening his pace. The library was suddenly the last place he wanted to be.

"But what about your Christmas tree?" Potter persisted, as he and Draco left the library.

"What Christmas tree?" asked Draco distractedly, stopping and looking away pointedly as a short girl wearing a Slytherin scarf walked by. Her eyes narrowed as she took in first the sight of Draco and then Potter exiting the library.

Potter seemed to notice the girl's disdain, because as she marched past him, he said coldly, "What are you looking at?"

She pursed her lips and continued on her way without a word. Just before she turned the corner, however, Draco heard her hiss what sounded unmistakably like the word "traitor" under her breath.

"Bitch," he spat out once the sound of her footsteps had faded away. "If it weren't for me, she'd still be the ugly, pathetic cow she was in second year."

Potter looked amused by Draco's malicious outburst. "Who is she?"

"Daphne Greengrass," said Draco carelessly. He resumed his stride, uncomfortably aware that Potter had just defended him. "What were you saying about a Christmas tree?"

"Number nineteen on your list. You said you wanted to open presents by a Christmas tree."

Draco managed to conceal his surprise just in time, but he still couldn't help looking over at Potter. "You remembered that?"

Potter flashed a smug smile. "I have a good memory when it comes to these kinds of things. I could recite the whole list, if you wanted me to."

Draco blinked twice, somewhat thrown off by this minor but, at the same time, hugely significant fact. "I… no, I'd rather you not," he said, grappling to find his usual tone of cool contempt.

"So what about it?" Potter asked, as he and Draco approached the main stairs. "How're you going to open presents by a Christmas tree if you stay here with the Slytherins?"

"Who said I was staying here?"

"But you just said –"

"That I don't have very many options. You just assumed that Hogwarts was the only one."

Potter grabbed Draco's arm, forcing him to stop. "So? What are you going to do?"

Draco unwillingly turned around to face Potter. He was watching Draco with his head tilted slightly to one side, an expectant look on his face as he waited for an answer. Draco found his gaze drawn to the black locks that had fallen ungracefully into Potter's eyes. His fingers flexed at his side as he fought the nagging urge to push those few strands of hair away… They really were distracting, and Draco had always been taught to make sure his opponent's eyes were in clear view before he did anything else…

"What are you doing?" Potter asked sharply, visibly stiffening as Draco, unable to resist, reached out and brushed aside the hair obscuring Potter's eyes.

Startled by Potter's tone, Draco dropped his hand. For one very long moment, he stared at Potter blankly. Then, slowly but surely, he felt his cheeks heat up. "It was bothering me," he mumbled lamely.

Potter, too, looked rather discomfited by Draco's unexpected gesture. "Sorry," he said uncertainly.

Had Draco not been so embarrassed, he probably would have found the fact that _Potter_ was apologising absurdly ironic, and mocked Potter for it. As it was, all he could think to say was, "I've got a favour to ask of you."

To Draco's relief, this seemed to successfully distract Potter from thoughts of what had just happened between them. "A favour?" he repeated, looking dumbfounded, as though he had never dreamt the day would come when he'd hear the word "favour" escape Draco's mouth.

"Yes," said Draco, gritting his teeth and steeling himself. _It's now or never. Go ahead and ask him._ "I'm… well, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not heading for the Slytherin common room right now."

"I don't blame you," Potter sighed. "What do you want, then? The money to buy a rare ingredient for your potion? A secret to keep? My help in making a miracle happen?"

Potter's cutting tone sliced across Draco's conscience like a whip. Rather than retaliate in an equally sardonic manner, Draco could only look away as it occurred to him, for the first time, just how much he had taken and was taking from Potter without giving anything back. It was the closest thing to true, unaffected guilt he had ever felt.

"Something like that," he muttered, wondering whether it was a good idea to ask Potter after all.

Leaning against the railing, Potter crossed his arms. "Well? What is it?"

"It's about my plans for break," Draco pressed on, reminding the warning voice in his head that Potter was the one who had so ardently insisted on lending his assistance. If getting through that list in the next few months meant taking Potter's offer and milking it dry, then that was what Draco would do.

Potter said nothing, but waited for Draco to continue.

"I…" Draco bit his lip, and then blurted out, "I want to visit my mother in Azkaban." He continued to stare at the portrait of two centaurs dining hanging on the opposite wall, purposely avoiding Potter's eyes, which he was certain had filled with scorn towards Draco's incongruous wish. "I thought… that is, I wanted to ask McGonagall for her consent to leave the school. And seeing as she probably likes you a hell of a lot more than she likes me…"

Holding his breath, Draco stole a fleeting glance at Potter. He was staring at Draco with an unreadable expression. Exhaling loudly, Draco said, "Never mind. It's a stupid idea. Not even you could convince her to let me go."

"No, wait, I never said I wouldn't do it," said Potter quickly. To Draco's relief, he had dropped the sarcasm that had bothered Draco so much. "I'm just trying to think. Wouldn't the final say be the Ministry's?"

Draco shrugged. "Forget it," he said, forcing his voice to stay unmoved. "If they won't even let me step off these grounds, the chances of them leaving me unattended for an entire day are nonexistent."

"I wouldn't be so quick to say that. I have quite an influence in the Ministry, in case you haven't noticed."

"No, I haven't," Draco replied sarcastically. But against his better judgment, a flicker of hope had burst into life inside of him. He tried not to sound too optimistic, though, when he asked, "So… you reckon…?"

"You'll have to find someone to escort you, of course," said Potter, as he resumed the path he and Draco had been taking to McGonagall's office. "I'm sure if I asked Lupin or one of the other Order members –"

"I'm not asking them for anything," Draco interrupted flatly, hurrying to catch up with Potter.

"You wouldn't be asking –"

"I don't _want_ them anywhere near me, Potter."

"But they could –"

"No."

---

"It'd be nice if you let me get out a full sentence every once in a while," Harry said irritably as they arrived at the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmistress's office. Harry said the password ("gingerbread"), then led the way up the spiralling staircase.

They walked up to the polished oak door at the top of the stairs. "You really don't need to do this," Malfoy muttered from behind Harry, but Harry easily picked up on the underlying tone of gratitude beneath Malfoy's surly words. He couldn't resist a smirk.

"Would it help if I said I was doing it for myself?" Harry joked. He then did a double take. He had just _teased_ Malfoy as effortlessly as he might have teased Ron or Hermione or Ginny. It was odd, feeling so at ease with Malfoy, but in a way, it also felt nice – like something Harry had wondered about for a long time, and was finally getting to experience.

_This is what it might have been like if I had just taken Malfoy's hand when he held it out on our first day here_, Harry realised, his eyes widening slightly. Then he pictured himself walking alongside Crabbe and Goyle, flanking Malfoy as they swaggered into Potions, and almost laughed.

"In that case, I'd say you were a selfish prick who only thinks of his own needs. Not that you aren't already," Malfoy retorted, snapping Harry out of his amusing thoughts.

_Okay, maybe it wouldn't have been all sunshine and daisies_, Harry corrected himself, grinning nonetheless.

A prod in the back from Malfoy reminded Harry that he was still standing in front of McGonagall's office, in a world where a friendship between him and Malfoy was as unlikely as Ron accepting it.

"Get on with it, Potter," Malfoy grumbled, indicating that he was in a hurry to get the meeting with McGonagall started – or, perhaps, over with.

Harry stepped forward and rapped smartly on the oak door. After a short pause, McGonagall called them inside.

At the sight of Harry standing in the doorway, McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "Mr Potter," she greeted.

Then Malfoy gave Harry a push into the office, causing Harry to stumble forward and reveal Malfoy's presence. McGonagall's eyebrows disappeared into her severe hairline. Her voice now betrayed a hint of confusion as she added, "And Mr Malfoy."

"Hi, Professor McGonagall," said Harry, regaining his balance. His eyes automatically flicked over to Dumbledore's portrait. The last time he had been in this room was the night of Dumbledore's death, and since then, McGonagall had made several changes to the décor, the most significant of which was the removal of the silver instruments that had previously occupied the spindly-legged tables around the room. Fawkes' perch had also disappeared. Harry couldn't help wondering, as he gazed at Dumbledore's snoozing, two-dimensional form, how the former headmaster felt about the transformation that had come over his office.

"…your recovery is coming along nicely, Mr Malfoy?" McGonagall was saying when Harry tuned back into the present.

"I bet you haven't given any thought to finding out who did it," Malfoy sneered. He had sprawled himself across one of the tartan sofas facing McGonagall's desk while Harry's attention had been fixated on Dumbledore's portrait.

McGonagall met Malfoy's challenging glare with a frosty one of her own. "Believe me when –"

"Why?" Malfoy interrupted rudely. "Why should I believe you? All that rubbish you fed the Wizengamot about wanting to provide me with an education… I don't believe any of it. You want me dead, just like the rest of your students and staff. The only difference between you and them is that you pretend you don't… _ma'am_," he finished, putting a mocking emphasis on the last word.

"I would advise you against using that tone with me, Mr Malfoy," said McGonagall coldly, her nostrils flaring. She shifted her piercing gaze from Malfoy to Harry, who immediately winced. "Well, don't just stand there and shuffle your feet, Potter. Sit down, and tell me what it is you've come here for."

Harry obediently joined Malfoy on the sofa. "I – we – were wondering…" he said awkwardly. "Well, Malfoy wanted to ask you for permission to –"

"I want to visit my mother in Azkaban," Malfoy cut in, repeating the words he had said to Harry. His eyes were fixed unswervingly on the headmistress, immovable determination glinting in their depths. "I want to see her one last time."

McGonagall's features softened. "I'm sure you know it's quite impossible for you leave the premises," she said, gently but firmly.

"What if someone went with him? Someone the Ministry trusts?" Harry suggested helpfully.

"Are you offering, Potter?" she asked, staring at him over her spectacles.

"No, of course not," Harry replied hastily – too hastily, perhaps, because when he glanced furtively over at Malfoy, he was shocked to see something that looked unnervingly like hurt flash across the other boy's face.

"Then I'm afraid there's nothing we can do. As honourable as it is of you to keep Mr Malfoy's best interests in mind, Potter, not very many people would be willing to undertake the task of accompanying a convicted Death Eater to Azkaban. Not to mention the Ministry is very short-staffed at the moment…"

"Then convince them to let me go on my own," Malfoy snapped, sitting upright. "Tell them I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to let them take away my right to see my own mother!"

"You are in no position to be bargaining with the Ministry," McGonagall replied, showing signs of impatience for the first time since Harry and Malfoy had stepped into her office. "Attempting to induce them into letting up on their restrictions will only give them cause to tighten their hold on you. There is no possible way for you to contact Narcissa right now, Mr Malfoy."

Harry looked over at Malfoy again and, at the sight of the other boy's pained expression, promptly felt a surge of simultaneous protectiveness and rage rise up within him.

"That's not fair, Professor!" he said furiously, rising to his feet. "Seeing his mum isn't… there's nothing wrong with that! You convinced them to stay his execution; isn't there anything you can do about this?"

"The circumstances surrounding Mr Malfoy's trial were different, Potter," McGonagall answered, her eyes flashing. "Moreover, it was your input that brought about the final decision."

Harry swallowed his retort. McGonagall was right. When it came down to it, _he_ had the final say in everything. His position in the wizarding community was a high one, and he had promised Malfoy that he would use it to help him accomplish his list. And now Harry was too selfish, too stuck on the idea of spending Christmas with a houseful of people who cared for him, to grant Malfoy the simple wish of seeing the only person in the world who still cared for _him_.

The poorly concealed hurt that darkened Malfoy's grey eyes to near-black intensified Harry's guilt a hundredfold. Knowing that he would regret it later, but unable to bring himself to allow Malfoy's life to get any worse than it already was, Harry said quietly, "I'll do it."

McGonagall sniffed. "Potter, you and Kingsley Shacklebolt may be on good terms, but even you won't be able to convince him to –"

Shooing the small voice in his head screaming _Harry, you idiot, no you won't! Retract your statement immediately!_ aside, Harry interrupted, "I mean I'll go. With Malfoy."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy turn to look at him so quickly that he must have cricked his neck. "What did you say?" he demanded.

Harry sighed. "If the Ministry needs someone they trust to go with you, then I'll do it. It's just for one day, right?"

His question was met with a sceptical silence. At last, McGonagall said, "You understand that there are preliminary precautions that must be taken, people to be seen, sheets to be signed…?"

"You can take care of all that, can't you, Professor?" asked Harry anxiously.

McGonagall merely sighed. "You will also need to be with him at all times, including while you are at the wizard prison. Azkaban is not a pleasant place, Potter."

"I know that. I've been there." Harry looked at McGonagall hopefully, knowing full well that she wanted to grant Malfoy his request as well. "So can you get all the official stuff done in time?"

"The Ministry may want a signed letter from you," she warned.

"Then I'll give them one," said Harry, shrugging.

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Very well, then. I will contact Shacklebolt and have him speak to the Hit Wizard department. As soon as everything is arranged, you will be notified."

"Thanks, Professor," said Harry, grateful that she wasn't asking questions. He headed over to the door, glanced over his shoulder, and noticed Malfoy still sitting on the sofa, staring at the floor with an unreadable expression. "Malfoy?" he ventured. "Come on, let's go."

Seeming to snap out of his stupor, Malfoy stood up and joined Harry at the door. Without a further word to McGonagall, he walked past Harry and out onto the landing.

"Thank you, Potter," said McGonagall in an unusually soft voice, just before Harry left as well. "I've no doubt that Mr Malfoy appreciates everything you have done for him."

Harry smiled briefly at McGonagall. "Yeah. The same goes for you, Professor."

He left, shutting the door behind him, and stepped onto the spiralling staircase, which brought him down to a stone wall. It split apart the moment Harry got off the stairs, revealing the exit.

Harry walked out into the dimly lit hallway. Malfoy was leaning against the opposite wall, waiting for Harry.

The moment he caught sight of Harry, he exploded.

"What the hell are you playing at, Potter?" he seethed, crossing the distance between him and Harry in two long strides. "Are you out of your fucking mind? Why would you do this for me? You _despise_ Dementors! You won't survive an hour in Azkaban! I'm not going on a bloody vacation, Potter. Azkaban isn't fucking Bermuda!"

"Calm down, Malfoy," Harry said firmly, grasping Draco's shoulders and holding him out at arm's length. "I know what Azkaban is like, you stupid sod. I put half its residents in there."

"I don't care how many people you put in there!" Draco raged on. "It's not your scene, and I know perfectly well that it's the last place you want to spend your Christmas at. I'm not letting you go there just because of me. I don't need your help!"

Harry almost smiled. "Don't worry about me," he said, releasing Malfoy. "As long as you get to see your mum, all's well, right?"

Malfoy faltered.

"Good," said Harry approvingly. "Now let's try for a bit of self-control, there's a good boy."

"I'm not your pet," Malfoy snapped, glaring at Harry. He sighed. "Why, Potter? I asked you to help me persuade McGonagall, not all of this."

"If I'm going to do the job, I might as well do it right." Harry raised his eyebrows. "I promised I'd help you, didn't I?"

"Right. The Gryffindor word of honour." Malfoy made a face like he was going to be sick, but there was a newfound light in his eyes that made Harry feel warm inside.

Harry studied Malfoy as they began walking down the corridor together. The other boy kept his eyes trained on his feet as he walked, shoulders slumped forward and an un-Slytherin-like air of bleakness about him. Malfoy was the picture of despair, and it made Harry angry. What had happened to the confident, composed stride, the smug, dignified posture, everything that was so infuriatingly Draco Malfoy? Day by day, his bitter cynicism wore away, exposing traces of fear and vulnerability. It wasn't _fair_ of Malfoy to turn into someone so helpless, to make the gallant Gryffindor in Harry so desperately want to protect him and give him everything he wanted – even if it meant lying to his own friends and, at times, sacrificing his own happiness.

_Damn you, Malfoy_, Harry thought half-heartedly, falling a step behind in order to continue observing Malfoy as they approached the Gryffindor common room. _You're actually making my life miserable without even trying to._

They stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. Malfoy's eyes swept over it distastefully before coming to rest on Harry's face.

"Bye, Potter," he said.

"Yeah. See you."

There was a long, drawn-out pause, during which Harry stared at Malfoy and Malfoy stared back. Then Malfoy took a step towards Harry so that their faces were mere centimetres apart and said, with such obvious sincerity that it sent a chill down Harry's spine, "You're braver than I thought you were, Potter."

Harry managed a smile. They were so close that he could feel Malfoy's warm breath on his lips, could see that his grey eyes were void of malice for the first time Harry could remember, but before he could figure out why these small details stirred up a sudden cloud of butterflies in his stomach, Malfoy stepped back, turned, and walked briskly around the bend.

"Just been on a date, have you?" said the Fat Lady craftily.

Harry shook his head so violently that his glasses nearly flew off. "Malfoy and I? Never!" he snapped at the portrait, petulantly straightening his glasses. "Christmas bauble."

"That's what they all say," the Fat Lady observed, as she swung her frame out from the wall to admit Harry. "You boys are always in denial… Never want to admit that you might –"

But Harry had already slammed the talking portrait shut.


	13. A Game

_We were strangers  
Starting out on a journey  
Never dreaming  
What we'd have to go through  
Now here we are  
I'm suddenly standing  
At the beginning with you_

- Richard Marx and Donna Lewis, "At the Beginning"

**Chapter 12:** A Game

Before Harry knew it, the nineteenth of December had arrived and he was waving good-bye to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny as they prepared to clamber onto the carriages that would take them to the train station. He had told Hermione and Ginny about his plans to accompany Malfoy to Azkaban, adding that he would join them at headquarters once Malfoy was back at Hogwarts, but had allowed Ron to stay blissfully oblivious of the situation.

Harry watched until the carriages were out of sight before turning around and heading back inside. Due the numerous casualties during the war, more students than usual were staying behind for the holidays, so Harry wasn't surprised to find the Entrance Hall bustling with activity.

As Harry shut the front doors behind him, responding to the eager "Hi Harry!"s and "How's it going, Harry?"s that greeted him with unenthusiastic nods, he caught sight of a head of all-too-familiar blond hair bobbing at the other end of the hall. Relieved for an excuse to escape Eleanor Branstone's attempts to engage him in a conversation about the history of mistletoe, Harry politely said good-bye and hurried to catch up with Malfoy.

"Hi," said Harry, meeting Malfoy, who had been heading in his direction, halfway down the hall. He fell into stride with the other boy as he began descending the stone steps leading to the dungeons.

Malfoy glanced at Harry. "Hello," he said stiffly. "I suppose it won't be any use telling you to go away?"

"Am I really that predictable?" Harry replied, laughing. "Where are you headed?"

"Potions classroom."

"You're already doing homework?" Harry asked dubiously.

Malfoy gave Harry a weird look. "No, Potter, I'm going to work on my potion – Felix Felicis."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling stupid. Of course it was the potion. Tentatively, he asked, "Can I come?"

"I suspect it wouldn't make a difference even if I said no," said Malfoy, sounding vaguely amused. Was it just Harry's imagination, or did Malfoy seem pleased that Harry had asked?

"What's in there?" Harry asked, pointing at the bulky bag Malfoy had slung over one shoulder, as they headed down the empty, torch-lit hallway to one of the unused Potions classrooms.

"This and that," said Malfoy evasively, shrugging his shoulders as he pushed open the door on his left and peered inside. "Hmm. This will have to do."

He slipped inside and, with a flick of his wand, lit the circular room. Harry followed him, shutting the door behind him as he went.

"I've never been in here," he remarked out loud, gazing around the barren dungeon. There were no desks or chairs on the smooth stone floor; just a few dusty cauldrons pushed against the far wall.

"They only use these classrooms in the case of emergencies," said Malfoy, walking over to the centre of the room and carefully putting his bag down. He wordlessly summoned one of the cauldrons over to rest at his feet, examined it critically, and cleaned it with a quick Scouring Charm.

"Emergencies?" Harry repeated apprehensively, watching as Malfoy began taking jars and bundles out of his knapsack and arranging them on the floor a metre or so away from the cauldron.

Instead of answering Harry, Malfoy said irritably, "If you're going to stay, you might as well do something useful. Light the fire under the cauldron, will you?"

Harry frowned at Malfoy's bossy tone. "Prat," he grumbled, heading over to Malfoy. Crouching down, he pointed his wand under the cauldron and said, "_Incendio!_"

A small, magical fire burst into life, hovering a centimetre above the ground, its flames licking at the underside of the pewter cauldron. Harry straightened up and took a few steps back.

By this time, Malfoy had finished unloading his ingredients. He was now muttering to himself under his breath as he picked up the items he had laid out one by one, scrutinised them, and put them back down.

"What're you doing?" Harry asked after a few minutes.

"Shh!" Malfoy said crossly, waving a hand over his shoulder at Harry.

Harry obediently shut up. He couldn't help admiring the other boy's concentration and focus. When it came to Potions, Harry's attention span was shorter than Professor Flitwick.

After a long time, Malfoy stood up, brushed off his robes, and walked over to the cauldron. He inspected it and then said, "Right. Another ten minutes or so, and things should be ready to go."

"Why ten minutes?" Harry asked, aware that nearly everything he had said to Malfoy since they had joined had been questions. It made him feel rather incompetent, but he couldn't help it – he was curious.

Malfoy gave Harry another one of his "are you stupid?" looks. He transfigured a spider crawling near his left foot into a spindly-legged stool and sat down on it before answering, "The base ingredient of Felix Felicis is Boomslang skin, which means it must be added first. However, it can only be added between noon and midnight, hence the ten minutes."

Harry resisted to the urge to laugh. "Why's that?"

"Don't ask me, Potter, I don't make up the rules," Malfoy replied impatiently. He stared broodingly into the miniature fire Harry had lit. "I've got all the ingredients but one right now. Luckily, I don't have to add it until the rest of the potion's been brewed, so I still have a few weeks left to look for it. But…"

"But?" Harry prompted.

"But I don't know if I'll be able to find it."

"What is it?"

"The Mist Lily."

"The Mist Lily?" Harry repeated dumbly. "Never heard of it."

"Considering the sheltered world you hail from, I'm not surprised," Malfoy retorted. At Harry's glare, he explained, "It's one of the rarest plants in the world. It only grows in a select few areas in the wild, which is why only the most difficult potions require it. According to my research, the Forbidden Forest is one of those areas."

"What's the matter then?"

"Are you mad? Willingly going into the Forbidden Forest… That's suicide, Potter."

"It's not as bad as everyone says it is," said Harry, with just a slight hint of exasperation. "I've been in there loads of times. I mean, I suppose the centaurs have become a bit hostile, and I'm pretty sure Grawp is still living there… Lupin also said something about werewolves…"

Harry broke off upon noticing that Malfoy had paled. He smirked. "Don't tell me you're scared of a few werewolves, Malfoy."

"Any person in their right mind would be," Malfoy snapped defensively. He shook his head a little, as if to clear it of thoughts of centaurs and werewolves. "I tried, Potter. I woke up early to go search – you can only find the Mist Lily in the early morning, when the morning mist is still in the air – but there weren't any traces of it. It must grow deeper in the forest."

"Then you'll just have to go in deeper," said Harry matter-of-factly. "And I reckon ten minutes have passed, so you should get on with it."

Malfoy rummaged around in one of his pockets and drew out a curious silver pocket watch and a folded sheet of parchment. He stared at the pocket watch intently for a few moments and then put it away. Tossing the parchment to Harry, he said carelessly, "Read that. It's got the instructions for brewing this potion; familiarise yourself with them."

Harry caught the square of folded parchment and unfolded it. He blinked at the endless rows of tiny, cramped writing that filled the sheet from top to bottom, left to right. "How the hell am I supposed to decipher this?" he blurted out.

"You figure it out," Malfoy said unconcernedly. He had whipped out a set of brass scales and was carefully measuring out a small mound of what looked suspiciously like ground, dried-out Doxy droppings.

"I thought you said you had to add Boomslang skin first," Harry pointed out.

"This _is_ Boomslang skin, you great idiot."

"Really?" said Harry doubtfully. "The Boomslang skin Hermione nicked from Snape's stores didn't look anything like that. It was sort of green, and it had –"

"The Mudblood stole from Snape's private stores?" Malfoy interrupted, suddenly forgetting about the Boomslang skin he was measuring.

Harry ground his teeth together. "Don't call her that," he said angrily. "Her name's Hermione."

"Whatever. How did she manage to do it? Snape kept his potion supplies carefully guarded." Malfoy looked more curious than anything else, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. As long as Malfoy didn't tell one of the staff members and ruin Hermione's reputation, it couldn't hurt to tell him about the Polyjuice Potion…

"Well, remember that time someone threw a firecracker into Goyle's Swelling Solution in second year?"

"That was you, wasn't it?"

Harry gaped at Malfoy. "How'd you know?"

"Snape told me everything," said Malfoy smugly.

"I _knew_ he suspected me, the git," Harry muttered darkly. "Anyway, yeah, that was me. While Snape was busy restoring order, Hermione managed to sneak off and invade his private stores."

Malfoy looked almost impressed. "And why, pray tell, would she need Boomslang skin so desperately? No second-year potions require a rare ingredient like that."

"Well, see, it's a complicated story," said Harry, sitting down on the floor next to Malfoy. "How can I say it…"

"Just say it already," said Malfoy, his tone annoyed.

"We brewed Polyjuice Potion, drank it to turn into Crabbe and Goyle, snuck into your common room, and tried to wheedle information about the Chamber of Secrets out of you." Harry bit back a grin at the sight of Malfoy's dumbfounded expression. "Do close your mouth, Malfoy; that gawk isn't very becoming."

"I can't believe you," said Malfoy, shaking his head. "You – you infiltrated my common room? And talked to _me_ as – wait, which one were you?"

"Goyle. But don't worry, you didn't say anything too revealing," said Harry casually. Malfoy's mouth was still hanging slightly open, so without thinking, Harry placed a finger under his chin and closed it for him.

Malfoy turned red and swatted at Harry's hand. "Don't touch me," he said tetchily.

"You're not angry, are you? About the Polyjuice Potion thing," said Harry worriedly.

"No, Potter, I'm actually pleasantly surprised to find that you do have a cunning, Slytherin side to you after all," said Malfoy, grinning wickedly. "Maybe you're not so bad after all."

Normally Harry would have been offended by such an insult to his integrity and honour, but Malfoy made it sound almost like a compliment. So he simply smiled and said, "You might be lucky enough to find that you have a bit of Gryffindor in you someday, Malfoy."

"I should hope not," said Malfoy disdainfully. "Now get to work learning the potion, or you'll never be of any help."

With that, Malfoy returned to measuring Boomslang skin. Grudgingly, Harry spread out the instructions Malfoy had written down and, squinting his eyes to make out the illegible print, began reading.

---

Draco had trouble falling asleep that night. He could hear the drunken shouts and cheers of his housemates coming from the common room, which was only a few doors down from the one-man dormitory McGonagall had arranged for him, but they weren't the reason for his insomnia.

The truth was, he was afraid to fall asleep, because he knew that when he woke up, he would be one day closer to receiving the Dementor's Kiss. Besides, he had enjoyed his day with Harry too much to let go of it just yet. Thus, he decided that the only way to deal with his worries, at least for the moment, was to escape the confines of his dormitory and the Slytherin common room, and take a walk around the castle.

So he did. Even though he had a fair bit of difficulty leaving the common room without being seen, he managed to make it out into the dungeons relatively unscathed. Once he was standing in the dark, narrow corridor, Draco shivered, feeling suddenly chilly. He had grabbed his cloak on the way out, but it did nothing to protect his naked torso from the drafty dungeon.

Grumbling under his breath, Draco lit his wand and made his way up to the ground floor. He stood in the Entrance Hall for a while and gazed solemnly at the double oak front doors, remembering the night he had woken up in the Hospital Wing with Harry's face hovering over him. Harry had said he'd found Draco slumped up against those doors. Draco wondered what he had looked like then, his clothes covered in blood and still damp from being in the snow for so long. It couldn't have been a very pleasant night for Harry.

Slowly, Draco plodded down the hall, the stone-flagged floor cold against his bare feet. With some effort, he pushed one of the doors open a crack.

The ethereal beauty of the scene that greeted Draco made his breath hitch in his throat. A smattering of stars glowed in the endless night sky, and the moon spilt its soft, pale glow over the grounds, causing the frost-covered grass to sparkle just as brilliantly as the stars above it. Captivated, Draco stepped outside, his toes curling as they met the frozen ground.

"Malfoy?"

Draco jumped and spun around. Harry was standing behind him in his pyjamas, his own wand lit and pointed at Draco, an expression of curious confusion on his face.

"How long have you been there?" Draco half gasped, stepping back inside and closing the door behind him.

"Not long," said Harry, moving closer to Draco. In a concerned tone, he added, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," Draco snapped impulsively. "I was distracted. What're you doing down here, anyway?"

"I couldn't sleep. I was going to go down to the kitchens and get something to eat. How about you?" Harry's eyes scanned Draco up and down, lingering for a split second on his bare chest. "If you're not careful, you'll catch a cold, going outside like that."

Draco flushed and nervously drew his cloak tighter around himself, not sure if he liked having Harry's eyes on him. "I was just looking at the night sky."

Harry seemed to realise where he had been looking, because he cleared his throat awkwardly and brought his eyes back up to Draco's face. "From here? Why didn't you go to the Astronomy Tower?"

"Too far," said Draco quietly. In an effort to break the uncomfortable silence that ensued, he said helpfully, "Well, I'll just be heading back down to the dungeons, then…"

Still holding his cloak around his shoulders with one hand, Draco began heading back to the stairway leading down to the dungeons. As he passed Harry, their wand hands brushed ever so slightly, and he heard Harry's sharp intake of breath. Being far more skilled in the department of controlling his reflexes, Draco managed to keep up the pretence of being unaffected by the brief skin-to-skin contact, but he couldn't help wondering if Harry's heartbeat had suddenly tripled, too.

"Draco."

Draco stiffened at the sound of his given name, spoken just before he reached the stairs.

"You don't need to… go back down there. Why don't you come to the kitchens with me?" Harry's voice was gentle and patient, and Draco, like a frightened puppy being coaxed out of a dark hole, found himself turning around, hopelessly drawn to the safety and protection Harry's firm voice entailed.

"I suppose sleep could wait another hour or so," said Draco carefully, the nearly imperceptible quaver in his voice betraying only the most minute hint of relief.

"I'm sure it won't mind," said Harry, his own relief at the prospect of having someone to join him plain. "Come on, I'll show you how to get in."

"I know how to get in," said Draco indignantly, falling into stride beside Harry as Harry began plodding down to the other end of the Entrance Hall. "I wouldn't have survived all these years in this miserable castle if I hadn't been able to procure food when I needed it."

"Why didn't you just ask your mum and dad to send it to you?"

Draco slanted a surprised glance at Harry. The other boy sounded faintly bitter, though it was obvious that he was trying to hide it.

"I didn't want to trouble them with something so trivial," said Draco stiffly.

"Why? They gave you everything you wanted."

"No they didn't, Potter. They didn't give me everything I wanted. Why do you care, anyway?"

Harry sighed, a whispered exhale that was nearly inaudible. "I… I was always jealous when I saw you receiving sweets from home."

"That was first year," Draco scoffed, barely managing to conceal his astonishment. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Had Everything, jealous of Draco Malfoy? It was absurd. And yet Draco felt none of the smugness or glee he once would have if he had known that he had something Harry Potter wanted. Instead, he almost felt sympathetic for Harry.

"I know. I've gotten over it by now. But I was younger then… All I could think about was how unlucky I was, getting stuck with a family that didn't give two shits about me, while this arrogant blond arse across the hall had parents who loved him and lavished him with gifts." Harry's wand hand shook; he definitely sounded bitter now.

"Who are you calling an arrogant blond arse?" Draco demanded, effectively squashing the urge to do something stupid like console Harry. _Honestly, Malfoy, how troubled can his childhood have been?_

"You have to admit, you were pretty arrogant. And blond," Harry smirked.

"You're too kind."

"Glad to see you're finally acknowledging it."

They descended a narrow stairway to the kitchens, the oddly comforting sound of Harry' deep, steady breaths intermingling with Draco's shallower ones filling Draco's ears. After a while, they arrived at a painting of a bowl of fruit.

"Go on," said Harry. "If you know how to get in, do it."

Draco stared at Harry haughtily "Nice try, Potter, but for once I wasn't lying when I said I knew."

He reached out and tickled the pear in the lower left hand corner. It giggled and squirmed in its spot, and then morphed into a golden door handle. Draco seized it and pulled the painting open. Light spilled out of the opening left behind, illuminating the small room Draco and Harry were standing in.

"Saviours of the world first," said Draco mockingly, sweeping into a deep bow but keeping his eyes fixed on Harry's face.

Harry looked like he wasn't sure whether to hex Draco or laugh at his impertinence. Settling for the medium, an amused scowl, he pushed past Draco and stepped through the portrait hole.

Muttering "_Nox_," Draco put out his light and followed Harry into the kitchen.

The instant the painting swung shut behind Draco, a delighted squeal shattered the silence. Draco barely had time to blink before what appeared to be a small bundle of mismatched hats and socks launched itself at Harry.

There was a heavy _oomph_ as Harry and the bundle collided, and then Harry gasped out, "Dobby – mmph – it's nice to see you, too, Dobby, but – I can't breathe –"

"Dobby?" Draco repeated, frowning. The name sounded vaguely familiar.

At the sound of Draco's voice, the house-elf latched onto Harry turned enormous, bulbous green eyes to Draco. A split second later, he gasped, dropped to his feet, and fell into a bow so low that his long nose grazed the floor.

"Master Malfoy," he squeaked, a tremor in his voice. "Dobby is pleased to see you again, sir, very pleased indeed…"

Realisation dawned upon Draco. "You're that worthless house-elf who tricked Father, aren't you?" he accused. "The one who was always lazing about and leaving the house without permission?"

"Malfoy!" said Harry warningly over Dobby's loud wail of despair. Awkwardly patting the top of the stack of knitted hats piled on the house-elf's knobbly head, Harry asked politely, "Would you mind getting some food for us, Dobby?"

"What's that little shit doing here?" Draco asked irritably, as Dobby hurried away, shooting frightened looks over his shoulder at Draco. "He made a fool out of my father!"

"Actually, no, that was me," Harry corrected, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"That was – what do you mean that was you?"

"I'm the one who tricked your dad into giving Dobby a sock. Dobby was too scared to do it himself."

Draco stared at Harry for a second, and then burst out in incredulous laughter. "No wonder why he wouldn't tell me what happened to our house-elf," he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Silently, he added, _Don't worry, Father, I'll get Potter back for that. Someday I'll beat him for you._

"Someday"... as in, "someday in the next seven months".

Immediately, Draco sobered up.

At that moment, Dobby returned to them with two other house-elves in his wake. Each of them carried a large platter laden with edible items. Draco eyed them, trying not to look too interested. He had skipped supper, and hadn't realised just how hungry he was until now.

"This way, Harry Potter, Master Malfoy," said Dobby enthusiastically. Still carrying his tray, which bore a silver teapot and two matching teacups, above his head, he led them over to a human-sized table and chairs. For a fleeting moment, Draco imagined himself back in the parlour of Malfoy Manor, sipping tea with his mother and discussing Quidditch tactics with his father. Then he blinked, and there was only Harry and a cluster of anxious house-elves.

"Malfoy, you coming?" Harry enquired, glancing over his shoulder at Draco, who realised, to his surprise, that he had stopped in his tracks, caught up in the vivid recollection of teatime with his parents.

Draco wordlessly walked over to Harry and sat down gingerly across from him. As Dobby began to direct the setting of the small table, Draco stared sullenly at his palms. His mother… in a few days, he'd finally be able to see her. He didn't know when, exactly; McGonagall had told him that she would let him know as soon as all the formalities had been settled. But Draco was already beginning to feel a faint fluttering of distress in his stomach. What would he say to her? What _could_ he say to her? Surely she knew by now that he was sentenced to receive the Dementor's Kiss in seven months' time, and that nothing, no amount of persuasion, could change that. Wouldn't it be better, then, if he didn't show up at all?

"You can eat, you know. The food's not poisoned."

Draco looked up at Harry. He had two chocolate biscuits in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Honestly, Potter, haven't you at least got the dignity to eat properly? You look like a peasant."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry! I forgot to ask for a fork and knife to eat my biscuit with, didn't I?" said Harry mockingly.

Dobby immediately jumped to attention. "If Harry Potter is needing a fork and knife, sir…" he said eagerly.

"No, no, Dobby I'll be fine." Harry raised his eyebrows at Draco. "This fellow over here could use a bit of humility though."

Dobby looked utterly confused by Harry's comment, as though he didn't know whether Harry was joking or not. Draco merely glared at Harry and muttered, "You're one to talk, Mr Resident Celebrity."

They finished the food the house-elves had brought them in silence. Sooner than Draco perhaps would have liked, Harry was standing up and thanking Dobby and the other house-elves for their courtesy. Gloomily, Draco stood up as well, making sure to grab a few bath buns as he did so. Now that he no longer had the majority of the Slytherins under his command, food outside of mealtimes was hard to come by.

"Thanks again," said Harry earnestly, as he and Draco made their way over to the exit with a hundred or so excited house-elves in tow. "Malfoy says thanks, too."

"No I don't," said Draco briskly. He swung the portrait open and climbed out, dropping gracefully onto the floor on the other side. "You coming, Potter, or is thanking them six times still not enough for you?"

"Hold your Hippogriffs," Harry replied crossly. He gestured Dobby over, and bent down to whisper something into the house-elf's large, bat-like ear. Dobby's already-large eyes grew comically wide, and he nodded rapidly.

"Ah, Harry Potter is most admirable and noble in his actions! Dobby is honoured to lend a helping hand, sir," he enthused, gazing at Harry with misty eyes. "Now Harry Potter and Master Malfoy must be returning to their common rooms… The hour is growing late, sir…"

"For once I agree with the wretched thing," Draco muttered, tapping his foot to show his impatience.

Harry waved Draco's remark aside. "Thanks, Dobby, I appreciate it," he said gratefully. "I'm sure he does, too. If you can, start after we go, okay? Oh, and if you find it, give it to me and not him. You can just leave it on my bed."

And then he turned, lit his wand, and joined Draco on the other side of the painting, swinging the frame shut behind him.

"Who's 'he'?" Draco asked irritably, lighting his wand as well.

Harry shrugged. "No one."

But Draco pressed on. "Go where?"

"Nowhere."

"What's 'it'?"

"Nothing."

"Prick," said Draco conversationally, as they ascended the stairs leading up to the Entrance Hall.

"There's no need to lavish me with gratitude."

"Why in the name of Merlin would I be doing that?"

"Wait and see," said Harry enigmatically.

They approached the flight of steps leading down to the dungeons, and Draco stopped. "Bye, Potter," he said, feeling rather disappointed that it was time for him to return to his common room. He'd actually _enjoyed_ sneaking around the school with Harry.

"You want to go back already?" Harry asked, looking both surprised and hurt.

Draco blinked at him. "Where else would I go?"

Now Harry looked embarrassed. "Er… well, I thought maybe we could go outside or something. Or you could come up to the Gryffindor Tower with me; you can see the stars from there."

Draco nearly fell over. "Potter, please tell me you're not asking me on a date."

"No!" Harry exclaimed immediately, his eyes enormous saucers of alarm. "I just… I'm sort of by myself in the dorm, and it's a little off-putting. It's the first time I've been separated from Ginny and Ron and Hermione for a while, and you don't seem too keen on going back down to your housemates, so… y'know…"

He trailed off, probably realising that he was rambling. Pressing his palms against his forehead, he muttered, "God, what am I saying… Sorry, that was really weird, I didn't mean –"

But Draco snickered. He rather liked this flustered, floundering Harry. It was a rare occasion, seeing everyone's favourite Gryffindor so discomposed, and Draco found it oddly endearing – in a strictly "hey, look, Potter's not perfect after all" way, of course.

"Sure," said Draco nonchalantly. He quickly added, "Anyone is better than an intoxicated Theodore Nott, even you."

"I'm flattered," said Harry. But he looked relieved that Draco hadn't run away screaming at his suggestion. "So, uh, where do you want to go?"

"Gryffindor Tower sounds nice." Draco flashed Harry a winning smile. "That way I'll know how to get in and navigate the lion's den next time I decide to kidnap a few Gryffindors for my evil schemes."

"Yeah, right," Harry scoffed as he headed towards the main staircase with Draco at his side. He did, however, look slightly worried by Draco's words.

"Good grief, Potter, I'm not really going to break into your common room," said Draco exasperatedly, noticing Harry's hesitance. "What the hell would I do with a kidnapped Gryffindor?"

"Hand him over to your housemates?"

"We already have house-elves, you know."

Harry frowned at Draco's cheeky response. "Why do you hate Gryffindors so much?"

Taken aback by the sudden shift in the light tone of their conversation, Draco shot back, "Why do you hate Slytherins so much?"

Harry stopped and stared at Draco for a very long time. His green eyes were wide, filled with something that was almost regret, but not quite. "We really don't know very much about each other, do we?" he asked softly.

"What do you expect? We were too busy with our respective lives to give a fuck about each other's."

"Let's do it right now, then."

Draco eyed Harry warily. "Do what?"

Harry gestured at the marble staircase, the base of which they were presently standing at. "We can sit down right here and get to know each other."

"You're mad," said Draco flatly, climbing the first two steps. He looked back. Harry was still standing at the foot of the stairs, staring at him expectantly. He sighed. "Right here?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah."

"Someone might see us," Draco pointed out, trying to picture the astonished expression on the face of a Hogwarts resident who happened across the sight of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter sitting next to each other on the wide marble staircase, chatting amiably about their pasts. Now _that_ was a tempting prospect.

"For some reason, the chances of someone else wandering the halls at three o'clock in the morning don't seem very likely to me," said Harry.

"True," said Draco thoughtfully. _Oh, fuck it all, just do it, Malfoy._ "Very well, then," he said, sitting down on the third step and leaning back against the railing. The coldness of the marble surface seeped through his flimsy pyjamas, and he grimaced.

"Hermione isn't going to believe her ears when I tell her about this," Harry laughed, sitting down on the first step, resting his elbow on the second, and leaning forward.

"You're dead if you repeat a word of what I say to the Mudblood," Draco threatened. He fingered his wand, trying to think of the best way to ensure that Harry didn't tell his friends anything. A Memory Charm? No, he was almost sure that that was one of the spells McGonagall had nulled. Not to mention he'd feel guilty – _yes_, he thought, closing his eyes, _guilty_ – if he erased Harry's memories of the night and kept his own.

"Her name's Hermione," said Harry coldly. "It'd be nice if you had the decency not to use that word in front of me. She's my friend, in case you haven't noticed."

"Whatever," said Draco, finding it hard to believe that out of all the things he had said, the only phrase that truly seemed to get under Harry's skin was "Mudblood". "So how do you want to do this?"

"Do you always need to do things a specific way?" Harry's mood seemed to have taken a nosedive after Draco's offhand remark. "Can't we just talk like normal people?"

"No," said Draco plainly. "We're not normal people. You're the Boy Who Lived, and I'm a Death Eater. Moreover, 'just talking' is what friends do. We're not friends."

Harry sighed. "Everything's so simple for you."

"Everything's simple for _me_?!" Draco burst out, offended by Harry's remark, which he took as an insult. "Everything's simple for _you_! You can be a suicidal pillock one minute and a perfectly normal seventeen-year-old adolescent the next, and everyone will go along with it. I don't think you've got the slightest idea just how lucky you are that your life is so black and bloody white."

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy," said Harry, covering a yawn with his palm. "Don't you ever get tired of ranting at me? I just meant to say that you're still happily living under the impression that nothing has changed between us, when a lot of things have."

"How do you mean?" Draco demanded.

Harry looked away; for the second time that night, he appeared to be discomposed. Draco waited for the "we may not like each other, but we're not enemies either" speech, but it never came. Instead, Harry simply shook his head and muttered, "Forget it. You wouldn't understand."

Draco bristled. What did Harry know about what Draco could and couldn't understand? Rather than pursue the subject, however, Draco merely said tightly, "Fine."

The two sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. Something in the atmosphere between them had changed, had tensed and thickened, and Draco was acutely aware of it. Then, with his eyes still downcast, Harry said, "If you want, we could make it into a game of some sort."

"A game?" Draco repeated dubiously. "We're a little old for that, don't you think, Potter?"

"You said you wanted to do this a certain way, and I'm offering," said Harry, a little irritably. "How about this: I ask you a question, you answer it; you ask me a question, I answer it; and so forth. We can take turns – one question at a time."

"Fine," said Draco again, desperate to get on with it. He had a feeling his arse would be permanently frozen to the marble step he was sitting on if they stayed there too long.

"Great," said Harry, and his cheered tone dissolved a little bit of Draco's grumpiness. Draco, too, couldn't help feeling decidedly more positive about this game; if things went well, he might be able to squeeze the truth about the battle with the Dark Lord out of the other boy.

"Answer my earlier question," said Draco, initiating the game. "Why do you hate Slytherins?"

Harry bit his lip. When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. "I don't hate Slytherins. I hate certain Slytherins. I hated – still hate – Voldemort for all the discord he spread. I hated Snape because of the way he treated my friends and because I thought he was a traitor, but that changed after I found out that he wasn't. And then I hated… you."

Draco was surprised, and then annoyed, by the flicker of hurt that flashed through him at Harry's confession. He'd always known that Harry hated him as much as he hated Harry; why did it bother him now?

"Oh, don't look so miserable, Potter," Draco sneered, noticing the worried look on Harry's face, "I already knew you did. You had reasons for hating the Dark Lord and Snape… what was your reason for hating me?"

"It's my turn," said Harry, ignoring Draco's probing. At Draco's indignant expression, he said firmly, "One question per turn."

Draco gritted his teeth. "Well, it should be obvious why I hate Gryffindors. They're not –"

Harry held up a hand, stopping Draco mid-answer. "That's not my question anymore. I've decided that I'd rather go for a bit of personal background about you, not your biases."

Draco squirmed in his spot, uneasiness instinctively settling in his stomach at the prospect of answering involved questions about his personal life. _No worries… I can always lie if it's something I don't want to answer…_ he reminded himself, trying to relax and maintain a mask of cool collectedness.

There was a pause, during which Harry gazed at Draco expectantly, as if waiting for him to say something. Draco remained defiantly silent. Shrugging, Harry asked, "What's your favourite breakfast food?"

Draco's shoulders sagged with relief. "That's it?"

"Unless you wanted me to ask something more personal?" Harry queried calmly. There was an intense, searching look in his eyes that Draco didn't like.

"Why do you care?"

"Well, if I'm going to be stuck with you over break, I might as well find out what you like to eat," said Harry defensively.

"I haven't got one."

Harry looked as though he had never heard anything more shocking. "You haven't?"

Draco shrugged in a noncommittal manner. "I just eat whatever's edible."

"But you hardly touch your food at breakfast! On the rare occasion that you even come up, that is…"

Draco eyed Harry. "Don't tell me you've been watching me eat."

Harry shook his head a little too quickly. "No, I've just… noticed," he stammered.

"Well, if you must know, the Hogwarts food isn't up to my standards," Draco lied, a haughty tone creeping into his voice. This wasn't true; it was moreso the company at the breakfast table that he didn't like, which was why he frequently had the house-elf who cleaned his dormitory bring him food from the kitchens.

"You weren't complaining half an hour ago," Harry grumbled. "Is that why you're always so thin? You never eat?"

"I eat, thank you very much. And I'm not _thin_, though I appreciate your concern over my body weight."

"I'm just making sure you don't starve yourself to death," Harry replied guardedly.

Instantly, the resident voice in Draco's head began gleefully crowing, _Potter cares! He actually_ cares! Deciding that, just this once, it would be acceptable for him to spare Harry the snide remark on the tip of his tongue, Draco switched the topic and said solemnly, "Next question. Who would you rather date – Weasley or Granger?"

Harry turned puce. "_WHAT?!_" he positively shrieked.

Clamping a hand over Harry's mouth, Draco hissed, "Shut your mouth, Potter, unless you want the entire castle to come running down here!"

Pushing Draco's hand away, Harry said in a lower voice, "Are you off your trolley? I wouldn't date either of them!"

"Okay then," said Draco, slightly pleased by this answer, "which one of them do you prefer?" At Harry's wide-eyed look, Draco said impatiently, "On a platonic level, you twit."

To Draco's dismay, this amendment only made things worse. Harry turned an accusing glare up at Draco and said coldly, "I'd never choose between them, so you can give up trying to make me right now, Malfoy."

Draco held up his hands hastily. "Fine, whatever, Potter. I was just curious. There's no need to overexert yourself."

But Draco could tell that his innocent question had thrown Harry back into his earlier unpleasant mood and that he was now going to pay for not realising that Gryffindors probably didn't do duplicitous things like choose between their two best friends until it was too late.

Sure enough, Harry's next question confirmed Draco's trepidation. "Why didn't you give me away when you saw me the night I killed Bellatrix?"

Draco cringed. He had been waiting for this question, had been unconsciously preparing a suitable response to it ever since Harry had asked him at Hogsmeade. He'd managed to escape the enquiry then, but now…

"I knew you were there," Draco began in a hushed voice, lowering his eyes and keeping them trained on his hands, which were now clasped in his lap, "before you let go of the Invisibility Cloak you had with you. Aunt Bellatrix had me maintaining the Revealing Shield she'd put around us; she knew your lot liked to use those cloaks to sneak around. She told me to keep a look out while we stopped to finish the Weasleys off. They were getting to be burdensome, and the Dark Lord had said, before we left, to get rid of anyone who detained us."

Save for a slight twitch of his jaw, Harry remained still, giving no indication that this part of Draco's speech had affected him.

"We'd hardly been there for five minutes when I saw you approaching. I was about to notify Aunt Bellatrix of your approach, but then I noticed that you were alone. I'll admit I was curious as to what you were doing out on open ground without backup, so I decided to remain silent for the time being."

At this point Draco faltered as random details of the scene came flooding back to him, so clear and vivid that they were nearly tangible. Draco could almost smell the battle raging on the other side of the forest, could almost taste the other Death Eaters' anticipation pulsing through the thick, sweat-laden air like sluggish electric shocks. He raised his eyes and found that the startling green pair that met his belonged not to the Harry Potter he had just been sitting with a minute ago, but the Harry Potter he had locked gazes with the night before the war ended.

"And then you…" Draco's voice shook ever so slightly, and he blinked, trying to clear his vision of the spectral battlefield he had somehow managed to conjure up around himself. "And then you dropped your Invisibility Cloak, and we looked straight at one another. At that moment, I knew that we were all done for if we gave you reason to attack. Just the look in your eyes… I can't even describe it, Potter. Let's just say that I've seen some pretty awful things, but nothing could compare to the fury in your eyes that night. For the first time in my life, I understood why _you_ were the only one who could defeat the Dark Lord.

"I knew from experience that you were incapable of channelling and controlling your magic properly when you let your emotions run amok, which was why I couldn't let the rest of them know you were there. I thought if I just let you alone… but then Aunt Bellatrix…"

Draco's exhale of breath made a hissing sound as it travelled through his clenched teeth. "So that's the story, Potter," he said bitterly. Having said his part, he felt strangely empty. It was as though the secret of his motives for saving Harry Potter from the wrath of a score of Death Eaters had been the only thing sustaining him for the past few months, and now that he had admitted it, he had lost a rather significant part of himself.

"So you really did just do it purely out of interest for yourself?" Harry asked, after a brief pause.

"Well, I certainly didn't do it for you."

Harry stared at Draco for one very long moment, and then burst out laughing. His laughter echoed up and down the empty marble staircase and was received by several muffled protests from the paintings hanging from the four walls that stretched upwards to the towers.

"Malfoy, you're such a self-centred _Slytherin_," said Harry, shaking his head once his laughter had subsided. "Here I was, thinking you had some hugely significant reason for saving my life, when the real reason was that you were scared for your own."

"I'm not a coward," Draco snapped unnecessarily.

"No, I didn't say that," Harry agreed. He pushed himself up two steps and plunked himself down next to Draco. In a much lower voice, he remarked, "That's the first time I've heard you talk about the war."

"So it is," said Draco, his tone equally subdued, albeit not as soft as Harry's. He shivered, enjoying the way the subtle heat radiating from Harry's body seemed to bring warmth to the otherwise cold stairwell.

"Is that why you haven't been –" Harry broke off there and frowned, as if contemplating whether he ought to say what he had in mind. Then he cleared his throat and amended, "Anyway, d'you want to keep going with the game?"

Draco rolled his eyes and said truthfully, "No. In case you haven't noticed, Potter, I'm freezing." He held out his stiff fingers as proof.

Harry grabbed one of Draco's hands, an innocent gesture which nevertheless made Draco's pulse quicken dangerously. "I can conjure up a ball of flames for you, if you want," Harry offered, raising his wand with his other hand and pressing its tip into Draco's palm.

"N-no," Draco stammered, resisting the instinctual urge to curl his fingers around Harry's. "I'd rather keep all my digits intact, thank you very much."

Harry rapped Draco's palm smartly with his wand and scowled. "I'm not that bad at magic, Malfoy," he said petulantly, releasing Draco's hand and tucking his wand back into his pocket.

"Oh? I reckon that rat you were supposed to be turning orange for our Charms O.W.L. would beg to differ," Draco shot back, immensely relieved that all physical contact between him and Harry had ceased for the moment.

"Says the bloke who couldn't even swish and flick his way through a simple Levitation Charm," Harry retorted.

"I was distracted!"

"By what? My arrival?"

_As a matter of fact, yes_, was Draco's silent reply. But he merely shook his head and said, "You've heard what you wanted to hear. Is it my turn now?"

---

Harry eyed Draco apprehensively. He was certainly right. Harry _had_ heard all he had wanted to hear. Draco had confessed the reasons behind his decision to let Harry run free the night the Weasleys were killed, so it was only fair that he, Harry, return the favour by telling Draco something he desperately wanted to know.

"All right, then," said Harry. He braced himself. There was no doubt that, having answered Harry's question, Draco would retaliate with something even bigger. It had always been that way between the two of them: one of them would step up their game, and the other would do the same, only better. Neither would settle for a truce or a draw; everything was a never-ending competition. Whether they were friends or enemies, Draco and Harry would always be rivals.

But Draco didn't seem like he was asking his next question as a form of revenge. He sounded genuinely curious when he enquired, "What happened the night you defeated the Dark Lord?"

Harry's jaw dropped. "What?"

"You know what I mean. How did you do it?"

Harry swallowed. "I can't tell you that. I haven't – not even my friends know. I haven't told anyone. You wouldn't understand."

It was the wrong thing to say. Draco's jaw tightened in anger; he leaned towards Harry, eyes flashing silver, mouth curled back in a bitter snarl. "Wouldn't understand? _Wouldn't understand?_ I served the Dark Lord, Potter. I bled for him; I tortured for him; I killed for him. I know what it's like to be lying on the ground, begging for his mercy, wishing I could just walk away and leave it all behind, but knowing that forsaking my position isn't an option because I _need_ to stay and bear it – for others and for myself. You reckon your pathetic Gryffindor friends would understand better than I do what that feels like?"

Harry averted his eyes. Draco's face was so close to his, so close that if he so much as lifted his chin a fraction of a centimetre, their mouths would meet. "Malfoy – it's not that…" he breathed, his lips barely forming the words.

Draco pulled back abruptly. "I think I'm ready to go to bed," he said, his voice revealing nothing.

"Yeah, me too," said Harry, a wave of dizzying relief crashing over him as his senses came rushing back. "Come on, I'll walk you back."

For once, Draco didn't object to being patronised by Harry. He pushed himself to his feet, and as he straightened up, his cloak fell open, revealing flashes of taut muscle moving fluidly beneath pale skin. Harry found his eyes drawn to Draco's bare chest and to the word "TRAITOR" written there in white, rope-like scars. The sight sent a shiver that was simultaneously pleasant and unpleasant down Harry's spine, and he quickly looked away, thinking furiously, _I'm going to kill you for what you did, Nott._

It was a short walk back to the dungeons. They stopped when they arrived at the bare stretch of stone wall that marked the Slytherin common room.

Harry didn't leave immediately. He still had one more pressing thing he wanted to ask. Hoping he wouldn't anger Draco, he asked, "Are you afraid of what's going to happen?"

Draco glanced over his shoulder at Harry. "You haven't answered my question yet, Potter," he said evenly. "When you do, I'll answer yours. Good night."

Harry sighed and walked away. _That's fair, I suppose_, he thought, slightly disgruntled despite having expected the brush-off.

Once he was back in his empty dormitory, Harry kicked off his shoes, collapsed onto his bed, and burrowed deep beneath his covers. He was instantly enveloped in warmth; once again, the house-elves had thoughtfully placed a bed warmer between his blankets.

Harry draped an arm over his forehead and sighed. Was it true, what Draco had told him? Had Draco really saved Harry's life to save his own? If that was the real reason, then it made sense that Draco had failed to mention that Harry's interference at the trial had most likely negated the life debt he owed Draco from that night. Not even Draco, for all his cunning, manipulative Slytherin tendencies, would hold Harry to anything if he really had let Harry go only to save himself and the other Death Eaters – at least, Harry didn't think so.

Even so, Harry now began to feel the first inklings of something entirely foreign to him: a sense of debt to Draco. Draco _had_ saved his life that night, after all, and he simply couldn't see the life debt Draco owed him as being enough to cancel the one he now realised he probably owed Draco. Indeed, Harry was certain that he had actually done Draco worse by forcing him to return to Hogwarts and live amongst people who loathed him. It was this fact, above anything else, which strengthened Harry's guilty feelings.

Harry sighed again. It was all really quite confusing, especially since his knowledge of life debts was so severely limited. Everything he knew about them came from the brief discussion he'd had with Dumbledore in third year. He would have to ask Hermione for more information once he returned to headquarters.

Now, however, Harry was too tired to linger any longer over the subject. As a pleasant state of drowsiness fell over him, he wondered fuzzily if the Slytherin beds were as snug and toasty as his. He imagined their dormitories were far less cosy than his, what with them being located down in the cold, drafty dungeons, and felt a flutter of sympathy for Draco.

_Someday I'll have to invite him to sleep up here…_ was the last coherent thought that crossed Harry's mind before he drifted off to a sleep that was, for the first time in several weeks, free of troubling dreams.


	14. A Wish

**Chapter 13:** A Wish

Over the next four days, Harry spent an alarming amount of time with Draco. A large part of the reason for this was the absence of his friends. Of course, the rest of the castle would have been more than willing to keep him company if he had let his loneliness be known, but he rather preferred being around Draco. Draco's worst traits – cynicism, bitterness, and pride, to name a few – were actually oddly reassuring; when Harry was around Draco, the nightmares that would have pervaded his slumber later that night faded away into intangible wisps of nothingness.

They rarely spoke during the day, choosing to carefully avoid each other instead, but late at night, after the rest of the castle's residents were snugly tucked away in their beds, Harry would sneak out of his common room, creep down countless flights of steps and corridors, and wait by the blank stretch of wall guarding the Slytherin common room until Draco appeared. The two of them would then exchange silent greetings, never once questioning what exactly they were doing or how it had turned into a regular sort of thing, and head off.

On the night following their visit to the kitchens, Harry and Draco had gone to the library again. The trip had been oddly reminiscent of Harry's first night back at Hogwarts, when he had come across Draco composing the beginnings of his list, only this time, Draco had passed the time reading _Hogwarts: A History_, while Harry had watched him in comfortable silence.

It was something Harry had taken to doing, watching Draco. He had always been indifferently aware that Draco was considered quite attractive by most of their classmates during the pre-war days, but seeing the other boy's haggard features at the trial had erased this formerly handsome image of Draco from Harry's mind. That night in the library, however, it had occurred to Harry that returning to school had done miracles for Draco's appearance. His hair was no longer oily and matted, but soft and glossy; his complexion no longer pallid and sickly, but smooth and healthy. Despite the deadened look that now seemed to be permanently fixed in his light grey eyes, he was once again haughtily beautiful, and even Harry hadn't been able to stop himself from stealing more glances than necessary at his moonlit companion.

The next night – the night of the twenty-first – they had dropped by the Room of Requirement. Harry had been trying to think of good way to explain the room's purpose to Draco when he had noticed, to his amazement, that the door had appeared and that Draco was nowhere to be seen. It had taken him several minutes of confusion to remember that Draco already knew about the mysteries of the Room of Requirements from his sixth-year escapades.

When he stepped inside, he had found that the room had turned into a spacious, somewhat bare parlour. The walls had been made of stone, and several sofas and seats, swathed in green and black silk, had sat on raised platforms around a large, glass coffee table. To the right had been a large, unused fireplace that had appeared to be there for decoration purposes only, and to the left had stood a stately chest of drawers, constructed from dark walnut.

"What _is_ this place?" Harry had asked, looking around in awe.

"The sitting room in my family's manor," Draco had replied, a hint of smugness underlying his words.

They had spent the next few minutes talking about Draco's potion, which was still brewing in the spare classroom down in the dungeons. Draco had informed Harry that he was nearly done with the base, which he'd have to leave to stew for two months. Harry had expressed his concerns regarding the secrecy of the potion, but Draco had waved them aside, assuring Harry that no one ever visited those classrooms and that his activities down there would remain undetected as long as Harry kept his mouth shut. At this point, he had shot Harry a challenging glare, and Harry had hastily promised that he would never breathe a word about the Felix Felicis to anyone.

The conversation had quickly drifted to the subject of Draco's list, and Harry had been delighted to note that Draco was growing more open about this particular topic. He hadn't a clue what had triggered the flip-flop in the other boy's willingness to discuss his goals, but the change was certainly welcome. Draco had even answered Harry's bemused question regarding the appearance of number five, "Hold a civil conversation with a member of each house".

"I want to understand," Draco had said, with a careless shrug of his shoulders. He had been lounging on one of the sofas at this point, while Harry sat awkwardly on one of the armchairs. "I don't particularly care, you see, but I do want to learn more about the houses and the perspectives of the students in them, no matter how skewed they are." 

Harry had then asked why, and Draco had shot him an incredulous look.

"Wouldn't you want to?" Draco had enquired, propping himself up on one elbow. "If you knew you were going to die in a week, wouldn't you want to find out everything you could about the things you never bothered to investigate?"

Rather put off by Draco's fervent response, Harry had dropped the subject.

On the night of the twenty-second, they had simply wandered about the slumbering castle, exploring its various unused rooms and passageways. Harry's favourite of the places they had discovered was a narrow corridor on the third floor, which had been hidden behind a tapestry of Agnes the Acerbic. Its walls had been magically altered by a visibly fading charm to look like the open sea, and even though there had been several patches of bare stone where the magic was no longer functioning, Harry had found the effect breathtaking.

Draco, on the other hand, had reacted quite differently. He'd turned faintly green and looked away from the undulating waves, muttering something about how the hallway was a waste of usable space. Harry had rolled his eyes and said, "Just because you're afraid of the water doesn't give you the automatic right to be a killjoy."

The fourth night, however, had been Harry's favourite. He and Draco had visited the Hogwarts graveyard – a graveyard that, prior to that night, Harry had not known existed, but that, according to Draco, was an imperative feature of the castle.

"It was the four founders' wishes that they be buried close to the school – before the falling out, of course," Draco had explained, paraphrasing what he had learned from _Hogwarts: A History_.

"Why haven't all the other headmasters and headmistresses been buried there then?" Harry had asked curiously.

Draco had pinned him with a haughty look. "Potter, not just _anyone_ can be buried with the four most celebrated figures in wizarding history," he had said snootily, as he pushed open the back doors and led Harry outside.

"Dumbledore deserved to be," Harry had shot back, somewhat miffed that the last Headmaster had not been considered important enough to be put to rest with the four founders. After all, everyone had said that Dumbledore had done more for the school than any other past headmaster or headmistress.

But at that point, Draco had grown sullen and resigned. Harry had realised that the topic of Dumbledore was, perhaps, not the best one to bring up in Draco's presence, considering all the troublesome situations that had arisen from Draco's half-hearted, yearlong attempt to kill the older wizard. He himself had felt a brief but intense flare of animosity towards Draco as he remembered the other boy's efforts, but had managed to repress it by reminding himself that that was all in the past and that the circumstances were different now. Besides, it hadn't been Draco's fault; he had been scared and Voldemort had coerced into doing it. Harry knew that, even if Draco refused to admit it.

So they had walked out into the night, shoulders hunched against the bitter wind and balls of flames in their cupped hands to cast a little warmth and illumination. Draco had proceeded to lead them into a part of the Forbidden Forest Harry had never known existed, but just as Harry had been about to ask what had changed Draco's mind about the dangers of entering the forest, they had broken free of the trees and found themselves in a large, ethereal clearing.

The moment Harry stepped into that clearing had felt, in a word, dreamlike. It was as though he had left the living world and crossed over into an alternate plane of existence, one locked within the parameters imposed by a circle of dark trees. The howling wind had faded away into a gentle whisper and the listless clouds in the black sky had parted, letting the moon spill its ethereal luminescence onto the four distinguished marble headstones that stood proudly in the centre of the clearing.

With the frost-covered grass glittering beneath his feet, Harry had approached the headstones, transfixed. He had been reaching out to touch Gryffindor's, which had, unsurprisingly, been engraved with a fierce-looking lion, when Draco had grabbed his forearm from behind and firmly pulled his hand away, breaking the spell of the moment.

"What?" Harry had demanded, annoyed by Draco's interference.

Draco had shaken his head, his face expressionless in the pale light. "You can't touch them," he had said, tugging Harry away from the gravestone. "They're protected by ancient magic."

"Why's that?" Harry had asked, stepping backwards.

"They thought thieves and Dark wizards would come here and try to extract some of the magic that was buried along with the founders, so they cast a number of strong protective spells to make sure that didn't happen. Now people come here from all over the world to make wishes. Supposedly, the magic that lingers here can make those wishes come true." Draco had paused here and looked over at the headstone marked with Slytherin's name, his pupils dilating in a way that had made Harry's insides twist nervously. In a thick, trembling voice that had been foreign to Harry, Draco had whispered, "Can you feel it? The power of the founders?"

Harry had shifted uneasily and said, "Malfoy, what're you –?"

"Shut up and stand still, Potter," Draco had interrupted, his hold on Harry's arm tightening. "Close your eyes and give yourself up. Rein in your emotions and thoughts… you'll sense it then."

Harry had been about to point out that closing his eyes and giving himself up in the presence of a convicted Death Eater did not rank high on his list of intelligent things to do, when he had noticed the candour in Draco's grey eyes. The stunning realisation that Draco was asking Harry to trust him had hit Harry at that precise moment, and before he'd had time to marvel at the absurdity of the unspoken request, his eyes had closed of their own volition.

"What now?" he had asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. He had felt utterly vulnerable and exposed, standing out there in the open with his eyes closed and only Draco Malfoy to guide him. It was something he usually hated, vulnerability, but somehow, whether it was because the magic Draco claimed charged the clearing had taken its toll on Harry or because Harry really did trust Draco (a thought even more perturbing than his defencelessness), he had managed to relax.

Draco had then led Harry through the process of consciously seizing control of his emotions and thoughts and temporarily storing them away. It had been unnervingly reminiscent of Harry's Occlumency lessons with Snape, only Draco had instructed Harry with an unexpected level of patience that Snape had never shown.

In the end, Harry hadn't been able to get it down. He had grown increasingly frustrated as, time and time again, worries about his schoolwork, telling Ron about the trial, and numerous other pressing concerns penetrated his concentration. It was so easy for Draco; he'd been compartmentalising his feelings all his life. But Harry had none of Draco's careful control or practised precision, and eventually he'd been forced to give up all hope of experiencing the same kind of thrill Draco evidently received from standing in the clearing.

Just before they returned to the castle, Harry and Draco had each made a silent wish. At first, Harry had been reluctant to do it. What did the founders care about his trivial desires? Then he had remembered the Fountain of Magical Brethren in the Ministry and changed his mind. Perhaps such things really did work after all.

It had taken Harry a while to decide what to wish for. There were so many things he wanted, but all those were petty wishes. Finally, after much impatient prodding from Draco (who had reverted to his usual irritating self after making his wish), Harry had decided on an adequate wish.

_I know that's probably beyond your powers_, he had thought desperately, as he and Draco had turned to leave, _but if there's any chance that you could help things along in the slightest, I know I wouldn't be the only grateful one._

---

Draco awoke the morning of the twenty-fourth feeling unusually rested. He stretched luxuriously, causing his sheets to fall away, and hissed as cold air hit exposed skin. _Bloody dungeons._

Yawning, he rolled over onto his side. As he did so, he noticed a piece of parchment lying on the bedside table. Pushing himself up into a half-sitting position, he picked up the said parchment and glanced at it.

_Add runespoor blood before noon,_ it read.

Draco groaned and sat up straighter. It was the note he had written to himself the night before. Shivering, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and stalked over to the door, grabbing his clothes and a towel from his trunk as he went.

He paused at the door, his hand hovering uncertainly over the door handle. Pressing his ear to the door, he listened for sounds of nearby movement. When he heard none, he tentatively opened the door a crack and glanced out into the narrow corridor.

His housemates were nowhere to be seen. Realising that they were probably still sleeping, Draco breathed a sigh of relief and set off down the hallway to the showers.

He showered quickly, not wanting to take too long in case any of the other boys woke up early and decided to take a shower as well. He'd brought his wand along (he rarely went anywhere without it anymore), but it was still too early for a duel, and he rather preferred being left alone in the morning.

In record time, he towelled himself dry, shrugged on his robes, and styled his hair. Just before he left the steamy shower room, he ventured a quick look into the mirror.

It was astonishing how much he had changed ever since returning to Hogwarts. Grudgingly, Draco had to admit that being at school had improved his health and appearance beyond recognition. There had been no time to eat full meals, bathe properly, or get a good night's sleep during the war; hell, even sixth year had been bad, with his exhausting trips to the Room of Requirement and the threat of his mother's death constantly hanging over his head. But it hadn't occurred to Draco just how noticeable a toll his Death Eater responsibilities had taken on his body until the day of his trial, when he had glanced into a window pane at the Ministry and seen a gaunt, sickly boy jeering back at him.

He had always prided himself on his looks, so he had been appalled to find them so drastically altered by a year of neglect. But now, as he examined his reflection, Draco couldn't help smiling tentatively. At least he could live the next few months with _some_ dignity. Feeling slightly better, he ran a hand through his wet locks once more and left the showers.

---

"Potter?"

Harry jumped slightly at the sound of Draco's confused voice behind him. He twisted around and shot the other boy, – who was standing in the doorway of the unused Potions room, one hand on the doorframe and the other in his tousled, wet hair – a nervous grin. "Morning," said Harry, before turning back to his work.

"What are you doing here?"

"Adding runespoor blood," said Harry casually. As if to prove his point, he tipped a carefully measured vial of a black liquid into the cauldron set before him. There was a faint, prolonged hiss, and then silence.

"You're – what?" Draco asked sharply. He crossed the distance between him and Harry in five steps and stared into the cauldron. "Who told you to do that?"

"You did," said Harry matter-of-factly. He stood up, dusted his robes off, and peered into the cauldron as well. "Remember? You said that if I got here before you, I should do it, since you can't risk missing the allotted time slot."

"Oh."

Harry glanced over at Draco. Smugly, he prompted, "So I did it right?"

Draco frowned. "Yes," he said, as if flabbergasted by the fact that Harry had managed to do something related to Potions correctly.

"Thought so," said Harry, chuckling. "Now come on, let's go."

"Go where?"

Cryptically, Harry replied, "I thought of a way… well, you'll see soon enough." He was already halfway out the door when he paused, looked back, and quirked an eyebrow at Draco, who had not yet moved. "You coming?"

For a moment, Draco looked like he was on the verge of declining Harry's offer. Then Harry gave him a hard look, and he sighed. "Fine," he said. "This better be worth my while, Potter. I have other things I could be doing."

"Like what?" Harry questioned amusedly, as he led Draco out of the room and down the hallway that led to the Slytherin common room.

"Like… other things," Draco spluttered. "Things that wouldn't waste my time."

Harry nudged Draco's arm with his elbow. "This won't be a waste of your time," he promised. "If it works, you'll be thanking me later."

"Apparently I'll be doing that a lot," Draco muttered.

Shaking his head, Harry let himself laugh a little more. It felt good to be so at ease around Draco. He stopped laughing when he reached the bare patch of stone that marked the Slytherin common room. "Say the password," he commanded, stepping aside.

"If you think I'm just going to say the password while you're standing here…" Draco began to say irritably. He trailed off, however, when the sound of muffled voices and footsteps from inside floated through the wall. "Shit, someone's coming," he swore.

Harry grinned. "Even better."

Ignoring Draco's incredulous stare, he grabbed the other boy's arm, tugged him to the side, and threw his Invisibility Cloak, which he had tucked into the back pocket of his trousers, over the two of them.

"What the hell are you doing?" Draco hissed, squirming out of Harry's grip, but letting the Invisibility Cloak stay draped over him.

Holding one finger to his lips to signal silence, Harry explained in a hurried whisper, "I had this idea yesterday. If we see and hear Nott or one of his friends talking about how he – y'know, cursed you, we'll store it as a memory, and we can use that memory as evidence later to prove that he was the one who did it. All we'd have to do is put it in a Pensieve and show McGonagall."

Draco gave Harry a blank stare. "And how exactly do you propose we get him to talk about it, Potter?"

Harry faltered. "Er…" he said intelligently.

With a snort, Draco shook his head. "Thought so."

"Let me think, will you?" Harry groused.

He fell into a sullen silence. The footsteps had stopped; whoever had been about to leave the Slytherin common room must have either paused along the way or gone back to the dorms. Harry kept his ears open for any more sounds from behind the wall as he mulled over Draco's question. How would he do it? He certainly couldn't mention it himself if he was going to be hiding under the Invisibility Cloak with Draco. Getting another student to do it was a possibility, but there was no one around, and besides, Harry didn't really trust any of the students who had stayed behind for break with his and Draco's suspicions about Nott.

Glancing around absently, his eyes fell on a familiar silvery-white figure, floating near the other end of the corridor. A grin broke out on his face. Of course.

Figuring it was safe to raise his voice, Harry threw off the cloak and called down the hallway, "Nick!"

The ghost of Nearly Headless Nick turned towards the sound of his name being called. In a matter of seconds, he was at Harry's side and adjusting his ruff.

"Good morning, Harry!" he said cheerfully, tipping his plumed hat at Harry. "What can I do for you?"

Harry shot a sideways glance at Draco, who had shrunk away from the silvery, transparent entity Harry had called over. Chuckling, he explained the situation to Nick.

"I see," said Nick, a frown creasing his silvery features. "And what is it that you would like me to do?"

"If you could just ask them about the attack" – Draco started rubbing at his chest with two fingers absently; Harry noticed this motion out of the corner of his eye and frowned – "without being too conspicuous about it, that would be great."

If Nearly Headless Nick found this request strange, he did not show it. "I would be delighted to help," he said, beaming.

Harry's ears perked up. The sound of footsteps was once again nearing him from the other side of the wall. "Okay, I think they're coming," he said, pulling the cloak back over the both of them. "You okay?" he muttered out of the side of his mouth to Draco, who had stopped touching his scar through his shirt.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" Draco asked irritably. He didn't seem to have noticed his own reaction to Harry's brief mention of the attack.

"Never mind," Harry said quickly. "Stay quiet, will you?"

Draco stilled beside him. As silence fell between the two of them, Harry's heightened senses began picking up Draco's every breath, every movement. It was intensely distracting, being within such close vicinity to the other boy. After a few seconds, Harry found himself wishing he could just tell Draco to stop breathing, because every time he exhaled, he sent a puff of warm air ghosting past Harry's very sensitive ear, and it sent tingles that weren't altogether unpleasant dancing across his skin.

_The list_, Harry suddenly remembered, as the seconds dragged on. _Now Malfoy can cross off number one. He's invisible._

Before he could point this out to Draco, Harry was distracted by the stone door concealed in the wall sliding open with a loud grinding noise and the subsequent emergence of a small group of Slytherins. The girl in the front – Harry didn't recognise her, but she looked like a second or third year – seemed to be leading the pack. As she turned right (bringing her face a mere foot away from Harry's), Nick appeared out of the opposite wall.

Two of the girls in the group screamed; the one in the lead jumped slightly, but recovered quickly. "Aren't you the Gryffindor ghost? The one who never got his head properly chopped off?" she asked haughtily, smoothing down her skirt.

Nearly Headless Nick looked rather miffed by this description, but he nodded. "I certainly am," he said, somewhat stiffly.

The boy next to the girl – Harry recognised him as Thomas Lowe, a third year who had once been caught cheating on a Charms exam – laughed loudly. "Only a Gryffindor would screw up his own execution," he said scathingly.

Harry didn't notice that his fists had clenched at his sides until he felt the nudge of Draco's elbow in his side. He looked over, and Draco shook his head, his expression unreadable. Harry slowly exhaled and relaxed his fingers, grateful that Draco at least wasn't amused by his housemates' snark.

"Actually," Nearly Headless Nick said, raising his voice to be heard above the malicious laughter that Thomas Lowe's comment had prompted, "I was just passing by in hopes that the Baron would know something about what happened to that Malfoy boy. But I see that he's not here, so I'll come back another –"

"_We_ know what happened," the leader said smugly. Draco exhaled sharply next to Harry's ear, and Harry shivered at the sensation. He knew what was going through Draco's head. He, too, had assumed that the Slytherins would be more reluctant to open up to a member of the Gryffindor house. But these students were young and most likely too immature to realise that spilling such valuable information could be a potentially bad idea.

"And what's that?" Nearly Headless Nick asked, oh so casually. He subtly winked in Harry's direction.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? That Draco Malfoy is a traitor, and he got what he deserved. Teddy made sure of that."

Now it was Draco's turn to tense up beside Harry. Worried, Harry lightly touched the other boy's arm in a silent effort to soothe him. Draco's muscles, however, remained taut under Harry's fingers, and he continued to clench his jaw as he stared past Harry and at his housemates.

"Teddy?"

"Theodore Nott, of course. He's absolutely brilliant. He came up with this idea – with the wand, you know, and he poisoned the cuts, too, which I never would've thought of – and then he got Malfoy when he was coming in from the grounds late at –"

The girl stopped there, for the wall behind her was sliding open again, and this time Theodore Nott was the one emerging from the Slytherin common room.

He noticed his housemates first. "What're you doing skulking around here, Augusta?" he snapped, turning his attention to the girl who had just been talking about him.

"Teddy!" she said, her pale, pudgy face flushing. "We were just talking about what you did to Malfoy." She drew out Draco's name as if it were something vile. Harry barely suppressed an eye roll.

"I told you not to talk about it publicly," he said furiously, scowling unattractively. It was then that he noticed Nearly Headless Nick floating a metre away. His beady eyes narrowed. "Get out of here, this is Slytherin territory," he snarled.

Nearly Headless Nick bowed, making sure to keep one semi-transparent hand on his head to prevent it from swinging off. "My apologies. I'll be heading off now…"

And then he floated back through the wall he had materialised out of.

No sooner had Nearly Headless Nick disappeared than Nott rounded on Augusta. "Did you tell that ghost anything?" he growled.

She looked frightened. "Yes, but just a bit – I only said one or two sentences to him, Teddy, really, I didn't mean to –"

But Augusta's protests were cut off by a resounding _smack_ – Nott had slapped her across the face. She cried out in pain and pressed both hands to her cheek, which was quickly turning a harsh, angry shade of red.

Harry managed to suppress a gasp, but only in the nick of time. He barely noticed that he was biting his lower lip so hard that it was bleeding as he took in the scene, and before he could compose himself, he was turning away, grabbing Draco's wrist in one hand and the cloak in the other, and tugging Draco along after him as he ran down the hallway, all attempts to remain quiet forgotten.

They rounded the corner, dashed down the next corridor, and didn't stop until they were back on the first floor. At some point, Harry had tugged the Invisibility Cloak off and stuffed it into his pocket. Panting, he now checked his pocket to make sure it was still there.

Draco was silent as they both fought to catch their breaths. After a few minutes, he said quietly, "They're always like that."

Harry shook his head, unable to meet Draco's eyes. "It's sick," he said hoarsely. "Nott is… that was wrong."

"She asked for it," Draco said tonelessly.

"She's twelve years old, Malfoy!"

"But she spoke without thinking. She betrayed Nott."

"Don't tell me you're still sticking up for that bastard!"

"I'm not sticking up for him, get that through your thick head! I'm telling you _why_ he did it, since you obviously don't have the brain capacity to view a situation from any perspective other than yours!"

"I don't care why he did what he did! Hitting a girl who did nothing wrong but talk too much is low," Harry snarled. "If you disagree – if you honestly think there's nothing wrong with that – you can get the fuck out of my sight right now." He waited for a few seconds, and nodded triumphantly when Draco, despite the ugly scowl on his face, stayed rooted to his spot. "That's what I thought."

Draco folded his arms and looked away, his jaw tight. "It's not a question of morals, Potter. Nott needed to do that. D'you reckon she'd ever learn not to go blabbing to people she can't trust if he let her off? And for God's sake," he added exasperatedly, noticing the vehement look on Harry's face, "it was just a slap! He didn't even draw blood!"

"There are better ways to teach someone a lesson," Harry argued through gritted teeth.

"Yeah? Why don't you go share them with Nott, then?" Draco sneered. "Let me guess – sit her down and tell her, kindly and firmly, that she should think before she opens her mouth next time. I'm sure he'd be delighted to take your suggestions into consideration."

"I'm not joking, Malfoy."

"Neither am I. This isn't your business, Potter. Let the Slytherins do as Slytherins do. Go play with your virtuous little Gryffindor friends if you don't like it."

Harry sighed, acknowledging the logic behind Draco's words. "It's just not right," he grumbled.

"Nothing is right anymore," Draco snapped. "If the world was still in order, I wouldn't be here talking to you."

"Where would you be?" Harry asked quietly, stepping onto the third floor landing. Draco had begun to head towards McGonagall's office while they had been talking, and Harry had unconsciously followed him.

"Helping Aunt Bella come up with ways to kill off your lot," he ground out, "or… or even trying to find you unsuspecting in the hallway and hex you."

Harry glanced at Draco doubtfully, as he always did whenever Draco mentioned his doings as a Death Eater, but said nothing.

---

"Ready?" Draco asked. He and Harry had reached McGonagall's office, and were standing just outside her door.

Harry shrugged. He looked peeved. With a twinge of exasperation, Draco realised it was because of what they had witnessed outside the Slytherin common room. Honestly, the git was so soft that it was a wonder he'd made it through the war, much less destroyed one of the greatest wizards of all time.

"Stop sulking," Draco commanded, his tone clipped.

Harry's jaw tightened noticeably, but he ignored the order and pushed past Draco to knock on McGonagall's door.

The door swung open of its own accord. McGonagall was seated behind her desk, frowning at a long, unfurled scroll of parchment. She glanced up briefly when Harry and Draco stepped into the office.

"I'm afraid it will have to wait, boys; I'm busy at the moment. Have a seat." She gestured at the hard-backed wooden chairs that had replaced the tartan sofa across the desk from her, and returned her attention to the document in her hands without a further word.

Draco sat down stiffly, but Harry remained standing. "Please, Professor, it's really important," he said earnestly.

McGonagall sniffed. "Mr Potter, I really am not –"

"It's about what happened to Malfoy. We know Nott did it."

McGonagall's gaze sharpened behind her square spectacles. "I warned you already that I will not tolerate false accusations against your fellow students."

"They're not false! We have evidence!"

Sighing irritably, McGonagall put the parchment down on her desk. "Yes?"

Harry finally crossed the room and seated himself next to Draco. He looked very nervous now that he had McGonagall's full attention. Draco glowered at the edge of McGonagall's desk as Harry began describing the means by which they had prompted the truth out of Augusta.

"…so you see, he confirmed it before our very eyes and ears."

For a very long moment, McGonagall remained silent, her stern face unreadable. Then she said, very slowly, "He physically assaulted Miss Grant, you say?"

Draco snorted in disbelief. "I don't think that's your primary concern right now!" he said loudly. "The injuries I suffered were far worse than Augusta's, if I recall correctly."

"Silence, Mr Malfoy," said McGonagall sharply, before turning back to Harry. "I imagine you have solid proof that will convince me that what you've told me is more than just malicious lies designed to get back at a common rival." Draco could swear her eyes flicked over to him as she said the last few words.

"A memory, Professor," said Harry eagerly. "We thought maybe we could show you the memory of what happened in a Pensieve."

McGonagall gave Harry a hard look, and Draco wondered vaguely if perhaps they were making a bigger deal out of the whole thing than was necessary. Sure, he wanted to make Nott suffer as painfully as possible, but maybe going at it by asking for McGonagall's help – the responsible and legal way to do it – wasn't the best idea.

Draco was just about to tap Harry on the shoulder and let him know that he'd settle for an Unforgiveable Curse or two when, with another incensed sigh, McGonagall pointed her wand at one of the many closets in the circular office. The doors flew open, revealing a low shelf, upon which sat a Pensieve.

Draco examined it from afar. The square-shaped basin was narrow in girth but tall, made of some kind of burgundy stone that Draco did not recognise. Its edges and engravings were clean and sharp, giving off the impression of infrequent use. This Pensieve looked nothing like the one his father had kept in his study; with a sense of smug satisfaction, Draco noted that Lucius' had been far more impressive-looking than the headmistress'.

"Have you ever done this, Potter?" McGonagall asked sharply, as she retrieved the basin and set it down on her desk. It was far more formidable up close.

"Er… done what?"

"Extracted a memory."

Harry looked surprised. "Well, I figured that you just… y'know, take your wand and…" He gestured vaguely at his temple, and flushed when his response was received with a blank stare.

Draco made a noise of mixed disbelief and amusement. "Oh, budge aside, Potter," he said, stepping in and saving Harry from his embarrassment, "I'll do it."

He pressed the tip of his wand lightly to his temple, just below his hairline, and concentrated on forcing the memory of the earlier incident into it. Once he was sure he had the memory secured, he carefully pulled his wand away and shook the silvery thread clinging to its end into the Pensieve.

Immediately, the liquid inside the Pensieve began to swirl, and a miniature image of the hallway just outside the Slytherin common room floated into view. Lips pursed and forehead creased, McGonagall leaned over the basin to watch the scene play out.

As Draco waited, he couldn't help sneaking a look in Harry's direction. To his surprise, Harry's eyes were already on him, studying him intently. In the brief moment of mutual realisation that followed, both boys blushed furiously – Draco knew, because as he watched the pink tinge in Harry's cheeks bloom with unabashed fascination, he felt a similar upwards rush of blood colour his own cheeks. He quickly averted his gaze, too mortified at having been caught sneaking glimpses to let the knowledge that Harry had been staring first fully sink in.

So flustered was Draco that it took him a full four seconds to realise that the undeniably endearing sight of the famous Harry Potter blushing like a virgin milkmaid had sent a second rush of blood in the opposite direction. When Draco finally recognised the tightening in his groin for what it was, he nearly put his head down in his arms for shame. Frantically, he scrambled to cover his lap with his robes, all the while expecting a hideous crimson and gold float to appear out of nowhere and Potter to leap onto it and announce to the entire world that he had dragged Draco Malfoy into realms of attraction that Draco wasn't ready – would never _be_ ready – to deal with.

Confused and ashamed by the sudden storm of foreign feelings raging through him, Draco barely noticed when McGonagall straightened up, her face pinched and white with fury, and announced that Nott and any accomplices would be expelled immediately the next day; nor did he hear her say that she had something she needed to talk to the both of them about. Only when Harry nudged him in the side did he remember that he was still in headmistress' office.

McGonagall didn't seem to notice Draco's strange behaviour. Looking straight at Harry, she announced, "I've just now received clearance from the Ministry for you and Mr Malfoy to take an extended leave of absence."

This finally snapped Draco out of his daze. "What?" he asked dumbly. It had been so long since Harry had offered to accompany him to Azkaban that he had all but given up hope of ever seeing his mother.

"When?" Harry demanded from beside Draco.

"Tomorrow."

Draco quickly calculated the days in his head. "Isn't tomorrow –" he began to say, but Harry beat him to it.

"But Professor, tomorrow's Christmas!"

"Yes, Potter, I'm aware, but the Ministry has –"

"I promised my friends I'd spend it with them." The assertion was made stubbornly, and it carried with it an air of finality.

A surge of fierce, unexpected jealousy burned through Draco, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from blurting out the words that had tumbled onto the tip of his tongue – that he had thought that he, Draco, had been more important to Harry than another Christmas with his wretched little Gryffindor friends.

McGonagall's eyes flashed. "In that case, you will have to tell Mr Malfoy, and not me, that you are backing out of your promise to him."

"Can't – can't you ask them to move it back a few days?" Harry's voice was pleading. "Please?"

"Your name can only get you so many favours, Potter," McGonagall scolded, but there was the faintest note of sympathy in her voice. "I'm sorry, but they're standing firm on the time and date."

There was a sharp intake of breath. Then Draco felt, rather than saw (for he was back to staring at the edge of McGonagall's desk as if breaking eye contact would result in his immediate death), Harry turn to look at him.

"Draco –"

"Don't call me that," said Draco coldly, every muscle in his jaw twitching from the effort of restraining a snarl. "Go ahead. Go back to your –" he remembered in time that he was still in McGonagall's presence, "_friends_. I don't care. It makes no difference to me."

"Fine, _Malfoy_." Harry sounded hurt by Draco's less-than-warm response. _Good_, Draco thought savagely. "But I was going to say that we should go and get our things ready if we're leaving first thing in the morning."

---

The arrangements were made quickly. Draco and Harry would meet in McGonagall's office at nine the next morning, where they would take a Portkey to the wizard prison. They were free to spend the day without any Ministry guards around, as long as they returned to the school, by means of another Portkey, at noon.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Harry asked, as the two of them left McGonagall's office and stepped onto the spiralling staircase.

"Nothing," Draco replied, his quavering voice betraying him. _Oh no, here it comes. Potter's going to confront me now._ "Look, Potter," he said weakly, figuring he might as well get a word in first, "that meant nothing. I didn't mean – I can't – I'm just _not_ –"

"Um, Malfoy, what the hell?" Harry enquired politely. He laid a hand on Draco's arm; Draco recoiled so strongly that he bumped into the railing of the moving staircase.

"Don't," he said sharply. He didn't have a clue when things had changed, but suddenly Harry's touch was like the lick of a flame against his skin, and it terrified him in a strange, unidentifiable way. Not that whatever he and Harry had wasn't strange and unidentifiable already, but this was different… this was physical, this was tangible, this was _there_ enough to serve as evidence that Draco's desperation had twisted his and Harry's cautious partnership into something deeper and more dangerous.

Harry stepped off the staircase, turned to face Draco, and folded his arms, effectively blocking the exit. "Look, Malfoy," he said angrily, "I'm giving up a lot to do this for you. Hell, I've given up more of my life than I ever should for your selfish arse all year. The least you could do right now is tell me why you're so bloody jittery all of a sudden."

Draco sighed as he moved onto the landing and reluctantly met Harry's eyes. Normally his own temper would proudly rise to the challenge of battling with Harry's, but all he felt at the moment was confusion so thick and heavy that he couldn't even rouse a few sparks of indignation. "Forget it," he muttered.

"Then at least show some courtesy, because telling McGonagall that I take back what I said is still an option," Harry snapped, before turning on his heel and walking out of the opening that had appeared in the stone wall.

Draco's own haughty words came back to him. _"I owe you my life, not my courtesy."_ He opened his mouth to spit them out, but they crumbled to ashes on his tongue.

Wincing, Draco silently followed Harry out into the hallway, weighed down by the knowledge that – Merlin help him – Harry had finally fractured his self-control.


	15. A Visit

**A/N:** I probably don't need to say this by now, but I will anyway: Christine and Vana are amazing._  
_

_Then you came around me  
The walls just disappeared  
Nothing to surround me  
Keep me from my fears  
I'm unprotected  
See how I've opened up  
You've made me trust_

- Avril Lavigne, "Naked"

**Chapter 14:** A Visit

Harry spent the evening writing a letter to Hermione. In it, he explained the situation with Malfoy and why it was all but impossible to change the plans, and begged her to make up an excuse for his absence to tell Ron. He finished the letter off with the sincerest apology he could muster – though the written words didn't even come close to expressing the regret he felt over not spending Christmas with his friends – and a promise to join them on Boxing Day. After a minute's hesitation, he added at the end, _P.S. – Tell Ginny that I send my love._

He slept fitfully that night. Though his nightmares were thankfully free of Voldemort's cold laugh and bloodless face, their new focus was not much better – for Harry dreamt of Draco's trial for the very first time that night, except that it was not the same trial Harry had attended. In his dream, he was being tried along with Draco, and rather than a row of stern-faced members of the Wizengamot, the jury consisted of Dementors and convicted Death Eaters. Every time Harry shouted that he was innocent, the chains around his arms tightened, rendering him helpless to do anything but watch in horror as two Dementors descended from the benches and hauled a struggling Draco out of the courtroom.

At this point, the dream abruptly ended and Harry slid back into a restless sleep. When he woke up the next morning, he felt strangely cold all over, as if he were already in the presence of the Azkaban guards he had dreamt about and would be seeing later.

Yawning, Harry slid out of bed and tugged on a pair of Dudley's old jeans – they had once been eight sizes too large for Harry, but Hermione had thankfully shrunk the waistband for him – and a thick pullover. After double-checking to make sure his wand was safely tucked into his back pocket, Harry grabbed the letter he had composed the night before and set off for the Owlery.

After sending his letter with one of the school's post owls, Harry made his way down to McGonagall's office. When he arrived, he saw that Draco – who, to Harry's astonishment, was wearing an unusually Muggle-inspired outfit of jeans and a button-down shirt under his cloak – and McGonagall were already there. Harry mumbled an apology for his late entrance and flopped down onto the seat next to Draco.

"Well then," said McGonagall crisply, "now that you've decided to show up, Mr Potter, let's get on with it. Here is the Portkey you will take to Azkaban." She pointed at a cracked bust of Godric Gryffindor sitting at the foot of her desk. "It's set to activate in four minutes. It will bring you to the visitor check-in area, where a staff member will meet you and escort you to Narcissa Malfoy's cell."

"Fine, fine, can we get a move on?" Draco snapped. He was fidgeting in his seat, his fingers nervously twisting the hem of his shirt. _"Twitchy little ferret," Hermione would say_ – the thought came to Harry out of the blue, but for some reason, he didn't find it that funny anymore, especially in the current circumstances.

"Very well," said McGonagall, standing up. "Off you go, then. Mind you two don't get into any trouble." She glared pointedly at Harry, who hoisted his best innocent look onto his face. "And you –" her sharp gaze travelled from Harry to Draco, "make sure you stay at Potter's side at all times. It will not do to have you wandering around Azkaban on your own."

Draco did not respond to this warning; indeed, he now looked as though he would throw up if he so much as opened his mouth. Harry felt a twinge of sympathy; he knew how difficult it must be to return to Azkaban after being released.

Their four minutes were nearly up, so Harry bid good-bye to McGonagall and reached for the bust. His hand met Draco's there; for an instant, he felt a jolt in his stomach region that had nothing to do with the Portkey, but before he could linger on the curious sensation, he was being lifted into the air by an invisible hook at his navel; and, in a whirlwind of colours, he and Draco were off.

---

It wasn't long before Harry's feet slammed onto hard ground. He stumbled but regained his footing and looked around. They had arrived on a derelict little island, situated in the midst of an endless expanse of stormy water. Everything around them was grey – the sky, the ground, the water. A pair of ominous wrought-iron gates stood before them, the only sign that life existed on this dreary bump of sand and decomposing organic matter. Behind the gates was a stone wall that seemed to stretch out for miles in both directions. This was Azkaban.

Harry gave an involuntary shiver as he took in the familiar surroundings. He had been here more times than he could remember, and yet the putrid odour of life rotting away, the bitter taste of madness on his lips, and the stifling silence that hung heavy in the air still sent an icy stab of fear straight through his very core. And the memories… the memories of Death lowering its hood, of excruciating pain, of blackness…

"Let's go," he whispered, desperate to get the visit over with.

When Draco failed to respond, Harry glanced to his side. What he saw made his breath lodge in his throat.

If the other boy's fear had been visible when they were in McGonagall's office, it was nothing compared to how evident it was now. Draco was shaking – not shivering, or even trembling, but shaking so hard that his teeth were literally rattling. Even worse was the look on his face, which was suddenly the same shade of grey as the sky above. Every inch of Draco's face was contorted into an expression of pure terror. His mouth was agape in a silent scream, as if he could see invisible monsters around him; and his eyes held the same kind of wild, animalistic fear that Harry had once seen in the eyes of a gazelle on the Dursleys' television, just before the lion chasing it pounced.

"Draco," said Harry uneasily, touching the other boy's arm.

Draco turned unseeing eyes on Harry. "Don't make me go in there," he whimpered, in a very un-Malfoy-like manner.

The plea wrenched Harry's heart. He had heard the same thing from every one of the Death Eaters he'd thrown into Azkaban, but never before had he been tempted to acquiesce to it. At the same time, however, he knew that Draco would never forgive him if he caved and took Draco back to Hogwarts, so he gritted his teeth and ploughed ahead.

"It's only for a few hours," he said soothingly. "You're the one who wanted to come, remember? To see your mum?" He drew strength from the way Draco's grey eyes cleared slightly at the mention of his mother. "C'mon, Malfoy. Do this for her. It won't be long, all right? I… I promise."

Draco's hands clenched into fists, as if he were trying to will his courage to return. Harry was, admittedly, bewildered. His mind flashed back to the trial, when Draco had maintained such enviable composure in the presence of the Dementors flanking him. What had happened between then and now?

At long last, Draco replied, in a voice that was unnervingly feeble, "Yeah, okay."

---

Draco had once prided himself on his acquired ability to maintain more than a shred of his composure around the Dementors ("A skill most favoured by our Lord," Aunt Bella had said), but nothing could have prepared him for facing them after two months of being free from their poisonous company.

They were everywhere. As Draco followed Harry into the inner prison, a blanket of silence enveloped him, pitch-black and bitingly cold, broken only by the Dementors' rattling breaths and the occasional dry, wracked sob of a dying prisoner. Even though it was a security wizard that greeted them and took them to Narcissa's cell, Draco could still sense the Dementors' lurking presence with each step he took, both in mind and body. He didn't know what had changed since the trial, but suddenly he found himself unable to fight off the despair, hopelessness, and regret spreading through him.

Still too mortified by his earlier reaction to the sight of the Azkaban gates to look Harry in the eye, Draco made a point of walking on the wizard's other side, though Merlin only knew how much he would have preferred to have Harry as close to him as possible. But no – he refused to turn to Harry for comfort and protection like a useless little Hufflepuff, especially when he himself had scorned the severity of Harry's response to the Dementors in third year.

"We're here."

The Azkaban guard's gruff voice broke through Draco's thoughts and brought him to a standstill. He slowly turned his head to look into the cell they had stopped at, and felt the fog in his head clear at once.

Narcissa Malfoy sat against the far wall of her prison cell, her thin frame huddled against the cold wreaked by the Dementors. Where her features had once bore evidence of fine upbringing, Azkaban had taken its toll. Her white, paper-thin skin was pulled tightly across her skull, giving her the appearance of one nearing death. Above her hollow cheeks, her eyes, two sunken chips of blue in her skeletal face, were lined with heavy black bags, and held a look that Draco, with a thrill of foreboding, instantly recognised as the first stirrings of madness. He had seen it the eyes of many other prisoners during his brief stay in Azkaban, but to see it in his own mother's eyes, the eyes that were so much like his own…

Abandoning all pretence, Draco lurched forwards and grabbed onto the bars of the cell. "Mother," he said hoarsely.

Narcissa did not immediately respond. She stared at Draco, as if she would see straight through him, an expression of vague bemusement turning down the corners of her thin lips.

"Mother, it's me," Draco said, hysteria making his voice climb an octave. "Your son, Draco. I've come to visit you."

This prompted a slow blink, but no other signs of recognition. Draco nearly burst into tears, but he managed to hold himself together enough to turn and ask the security wizard, with only the slightest tremble in his voice, if he could enter the cell.

The wizard sneered at Draco and replied rudely, "You're to stay outside. The boss says you ain't allowed in."

Draco swore under his breath, wishing he could whip out his wand and curse the fool to hell and back; but alas, McGonagall had confiscated his wand before they left, saying that he wouldn't need it anyway. Then, to his surprise, Harry stepped in.

"Sir," he said, his tone low and pleasant, "I know it's against policy and all, and I know that Malfoy here doesn't deserve to have the rules bent for him, but he's really set on seeing his mum one last time, see, and I'd be indebted if you could just let him in for a bit. I really would rather not deal with his temper all the way back to Hogwarts if his wish isn't granted. I promise I'll keep watch over him; I know just as well as you do that people like him aren't to be trusted."

Draco bristled with indignation at the affected disgust behind his surname, but he kept quiet; he, too, was an expert at playing people to his advantage, and recognised what Harry was trying to do. He tore his eyes away from his poor mother long enough to watch Harry as he expertly used the tools of persuasion to convince the guard to let Draco into the cell.

"Oh, have it your way, then," the wizard finally said, pretending to look annoyed. Draco could tell, however, that the dolt couldn't have been more ecstatic about getting the chance to do Harry Potter a favour.

"Thank you," said Harry, smiling winningly. Only Draco noticed how strained the smile was – it seemed that he, Draco, wasn't the only one being affected by the Dementors, even if the creatures were nowhere in the immediate vicinity.

The wizard pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door to the cell. "Wand?" he growled to Draco, holding out his grubby hand.

"Haven't got it on me," said Draco icily.

The wizard turned back to Harry. "If this filth causes any trouble, you just let me know, Mr Potter," he said unctuously, the aggression vanishing instantly from his voice.

With a short nod, Harry said, "Have a good day."

Draco waited until the security wizard had disappeared down the dark corridor to turn to Harry and nod his thanks.

Harry simply smiled faintly. Now that the two of them were alone, Harry looked much less sure of himself. Under his mop of black hair, his forehead was pale and dotted with beads of sweat. He looked almost as terrible as Draco felt.

Swallowing, Draco turned his attention back to his mother. Pulling the cell door open a bit wider, Draco slipped through the gap and walked up to Narcissa. Trembling uncontrollably, he collapsed to his knees beside her and took her frail hands in his.

"Mother," he said again.

She finally turned towards the sound of his voice. For one heart stopping moment, Draco thought he saw a flicker of recognition in the depths of her pupils, but then it disappeared. He pressed on.

"I'm sorry, Mother, I tried to write you, but they wouldn't let me send anything. When I heard that you'd been arrested, I was preparing to go to trial. I told them that I just wanted to see you one last time, because I was so sure they would sentence me to the Kiss. But they said no, the Ministry bastards, they wouldn't let me come near you, because they didn't trust us together. Imagine that… they thought that, given five minutes alone, a mother and her son would devise some sort of plot to overthrow the wizarding government!"

The words tumbled out of Draco's mouth faster than he could form rational thoughts, but he was barely aware that he was rambling. He had so much to say, so much he needed his mother to know before they parted for the final time, that he could hardly be bothered with coherence. Never mind that Narcissa's gaze had already slid out of focus, or that she was hunched away from Draco like a puppy flinching away from its master. Draco would say what he had come to say.

"Anyway, you're probably wondering why I'm here if I was going to be sentenced to death – well, I suppose the Dementor's Kiss isn't really death, but it's as good as death." he said, continuing as though he were having a casual conversation with an old friend and not with his dying mother. "It's something of a long story, but to cut it short, Harry Potter saved me. His was the vote that delayed the Kiss for another seven months. If only you were there! No doubt you would have laughed at the irony of it all.

"Remember what you used to tell me when I was a child? That, if ever I should find myself facing death, I would die proudly and without any regrets? I always thought that was so silly. If I was going to die, I thought, wouldn't I be more worried about the pain, about leaving you and father and our fortune behind? Why should I care about regrets if I won't even remember them when I'm dead?

"Things are different now, though, Mother. I think I understand what you meant. Living has never been so important to me. I don't want to… I can't live for others anymore."

Draco lifted a hand to brush his hair out of his eyes and found that his cheeks were cold and wet with tears. Shuffling over so that Harry, who Draco knew was watching from just outside the cell, couldn't see his face, Draco gingerly stroked his mother's ashen cheek. She twisted away from the touch, and Draco had to swallow a sob.

"You know what I did?" he continued, hating the chilly silence that fell whenever he paused to take a breath. "I wrote a list of things I want to do before I die. Twenty-five goals, half of them near-impossible." He shook his head. "I don't even know how I'm going to achieve most of them. But it's comforting, in a way, knowing I have a purpose now. At least I can work towards something in these last few months. At least I won't die knowing I wasted away the little time I had at my disposal."

For a moment, Draco thought of telling Narcissa the items on his list. She would want to know, of course. But there really was no point; she wouldn't even comprehend him, and even if she could, Draco didn't want to distress her. So instead, he said, as lightly as he could, "Visiting you was one of the things that I thought would be impossible, though, so I suppose there's still hope, right?"

Narcissa let out a high-pitched keening sound in response, and grabbed onto the sleeve of Draco's robe, like a reprimanded house-elf. It was all Draco could do to not turn away from the painful sight of his poor, broken mother. Here, in this dark, dank Azkaban cell, he let fear seize him in its icy grip. God, how he wished he had his mother here – truly here – right now. He had never been so desperate for her whispered words of comfort, for her arms holding him close to her, for her slim fingers stroking his hair.

For the first time in his life, it struck him how very alone in the world he was.

As if he could read Draco's thoughts, Harry chose that moment to speak up. "Draco?" he said quietly; from a great distance, it seemed.

"One moment," Draco answered tonelessly, "I'm almost done."

Harry made a soft noise of assent and fell silent again.

"How the mighty have fallen," Draco mused thickly, blinking back fresh tears, as he gazed around the bare little cell his mother now resided in. "Who would have thought a year ago that the Malfoys could ever sink so low? One murdered by his own Lord's command, one half-mad and imprisoned for life, and one set to die for treachery in five months' time. A far cry from the power and prestige our name once entailed, isn't it, Mother?"

Narcissa stared blankly at him.

Fury stirred in Draco's blood; fury at the shambles his once-honourable family had become and the people who had taken part in destroying them: the Ministry, the Order of the Phoenix, even the Dark Lord and his minions, Draco's allies. He resented this, all of this. It was the worst form of suffering, having to watch his life deteriorate around him as the rest of the world rejoiced.

"I have to go now," Draco said abruptly. He couldn't stand being here any longer. The clammy coldness that clung to him, a result of being near the Dementors, was making it harder by the minute for him to draw breath; he was sure that if he stayed, he'd drown in it. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. Looking down at his mother's crumpled form, he added in an undertone, "If there's some way to get you out of here… to save us both… I swear, I'll find it. But until then…"

Draco couldn't force the next words out – how was he supposed to say good-bye for the last time to his own mother? – so he wordlessly turned away and strode back to Harry.

_Just don't forget me_, he thought sadly, twisting his neck to catch one last glimpse of his mother through the cell bars before shutting the door behind him.

---

Both Harry and Draco were subdued as they made their way out of the inner prison and back into the waiting room. Along the way, they encountered only one Dementor, but even walking past that one Dementor was enough to make Harry feel as though an invisible hand were clawing at his chest from inside, trying to re-carve the gaping hole that two months in the safety of Hogwarts had nearly mended. He was immensely relieved, therefore, when they finally left the confines of the prison walls, their Portkey – a broken quill – with them.

"What time is it?" Draco asked in a low voice, breaking the silence that had settled between them on their way out.

"Nearly eleven. We've still got an hour," Harry replied, after checking his watch. He hesitated. "Listen, Malfoy… are you all right?"

Draco just looked at him, the distress in his grey eyes speaking volumes.

Sighing, Harry stuffed the Portkey into his pocket and reached for Draco. "Come here," he said gruffly, before awkwardly wrapping his arms around Draco and pulling the other boy into a clumsy hug.

At first, Draco stiffened in Harry's arms, and for a fleeting moment, Harry feared that he was going to push him away. Then, after a very tense moment, literally every muscle in Draco's body relaxed, and he all but melted into a very surprised Harry.

"This is fucking hell," Draco muttered, his breath tickling Harry's throat. "I can't come back to this. I can't live with this. I can't take it, Potter."

"Mmhmm," Harry hummed, even though he only understood half of what Draco was saying. He was surprised to find that the other boy was warm in his arms, perhaps because he'd always thought that Draco would be as cold as his personality. "It'll be fine, it'll be okay, everything will work itself out," he mindlessly soothed. "You can cross two more things off your list now – she would've wanted you to get through it, y'know."

"Two?"

"You were invisible the other day, remember? When we went to go gather evidence that it was Nott who attacked you?"

There was a pause, and then Draco laughed emptily. "Oh, a fine way to accomplish the first goal on my list," he muttered. "Hiding under an Invisibility Cloak with you and spying on my housemates. I had hoped for something a bit more glamorous, to tell you the truth…"

"Oh, shut up," said Harry. He pulled away from Draco, the time for intimacy having passed. To his relief, some of the colour had returned to the other boy's face. Harry couldn't help turning a little bit red as it occurred to him that he had just embraced Draco as closely as he might have embraced Ginny, his own girlfriend.

"Let's go back, then," said Draco, apparently unaware of Harry's embarrassment.

"We can't. The Portkey activates at noon."

"Then we can Apparate. Are you a seventeen-year-old wizard or not, Potter?"

Harry smiled. "We can't Apparate into school grounds," he explained, reciting the words Hermione had exasperatedly repeated at least a hundred times. "I'm surprised you didn't know that."

Draco snorted. "Then what the hell are we supposed to do for an hour? We can't just sit here." He shuddered, as if to emphasise his point.

"I've an idea," Harry suddenly said. "Come on, let's go to Diagon Alley."

"Yes, because that won't get me thrown back in Azkaban," said Draco, rolling his eyes.

"They'll never know."

"And how do you suggest we _get_ to Diagon Alley, Potter? We very well can't fly there. Merlin knows where we _are_…"

"You said it yourself – we can Apparate."

"They're tracking me," said Draco wearily. "If I Apparate, they'll know."

"They haven't got me tagged, though," Harry pointed out. "I could… y'know." He made a vague gesture to indicate Side-Along Apparition, which Draco, miraculously, seemed to understand.

He shot Harry a wary look. "Are you sure you're capable of Side-Along Apparition?"

"Of course I am!" said Harry indignantly. "I did it when…" He faltered, not wanting to bring up Dumbledore or the night Snape had whisked Draco away. "I've done it before," he amended.

"Why Diagon Alley?"

"I want to purchase some stuff," said Harry mysteriously.

Draco stared at Harry suspiciously for a moment. Then, extending a hand, he said, "Fine."

Harry took Draco's proffered hand and used it to pull him closer. He took a brief moment to thank the heavens that Draco was no longer shying away from his touch like a frightened filly, before wrapping an arm around Draco's waist and Apparating both of them away.

---

Before they entered Diagon Alley, Draco had insisted on hiding himself with a Disillusionment Charm. Harry had protested at first, but then Draco had pointed out that the Ministry would hardly be pleased if they found out that a criminal under their watch was wandering around Diagon Alley when he was supposed to be in Azkaban, and that had been that.

Harry seemed to know where he was going, Draco thought, as he struggled to keep up with his companion's quick, long strides. It was difficult work, trying to avoid stepping on toes and knocking against shoulders, and he was glad when they arrived at a dingy little shop near the end of the street.

"Where are we?" Draco muttered, eying the dusty, tinted windows of the store before him. It was one of the few stores that hadn't been decorated with wreaths and fairy lights for the holidays.

Instead of answering Draco's question, Harry said, "Wait here," and then disappeared into the shop without a further word.

It wasn't long before Harry emerged carrying two large bags, a somewhat shifty air about him. Draco considered for a moment the odds of getting a straight answer if he were to ask what was in the bags. Then, deciding that there was no point in trying, he shrugged his curiosity off and asked instead, "How exactly are you going to hide those from McGonagall?"

"Er… can you put Disillusionment Charms on inanimate objects?" Harry asked hopefully.

Draco shot him a scornful look. "You think that old bat will be fooled by a Disillusionment Charm?"

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "Well, I don't know what else I –"

"Are you a wizard or not? Give them here," said Draco impatiently. He took the two bags and held his other hand out for Harry's wand. Harry gave it to him. Tapping the bags, Draco muttered, "_Reducio!_" The two bags immediately shrunk to palm-size. Draco handed them and the wand back to Harry.

"Thanks," said Harry, grinning and tucking his shrunken purchases into his jeans pocket.

Draco rolled his eyes as they set off down the winding, snow-powdered street, and successfully managed to hide his pleased flush.

"We're leaving already?" Draco asked, surprised, when they stopped at the Apparition area. He had assumed that Harry would want to stay a bit and look around, but then, on second thought, rationalised that he probably wanted to avoid catching too much attention.

"Why, do you have anything you need to do?"

Draco shook his head. "No, never mind. Hurry up, it's cold."

Harry glanced at his watch, his forehead creasing. "It's nearly twelve, anyway. Our Portkey will only depart from Azkaban, so we should be getting back."

"I _know_, Potter," Draco ground out, his bad temper returning at the prospect of going back to the wizard prison, even if just for a few minutes. "Now let's _go_."

Shrugging, Harry offered his arms. Draco cringed and slowly stepped forward. Immediately, he was enfolded in an embrace that may or may not have been tighter than necessary. Draco sighed and closed his eyes, his fear of physical contact gone for the moment, and let Harry Apparate them back to Azkaban.


	16. A Gift

**A/N: ** My awesome betas Christine and Vana are responsible for the quick update. Bow down to them.**  
**

**Chapter 15:** A Gift

"What's in the bags?"

Harry smiled mysteriously, but didn't answer Draco's question. Ever since they had returned to Hogwarts and left McGonagall's office, Draco had been badgering him about the items he'd purchased at Diagon Alley. Harry had, of course, kept his lips tightly sealed; he wanted to keep the contents of the bags a secret until the time to reveal them arose.

They stopped at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Draco was looking sour again. When Harry pointed this out, Draco's eyes flashed angrily.

"Well, you're leaving to spend the rest of the day with your friends, so why do you care?" he snapped.

Harry's eyebrows skyrocketed. It hadn't even occurred to him that he could still join his friends for Christmas supper; he had simply assumed that he would spend the entire day with Draco. Then a grin slowly spread across his face. So _that_ was why Draco had gone back to sulking.

"Don't tell me you're jealous, Malfoy."

"Jealous that you're going to spend Christmas in a dump? Hardly," Draco snorted – quite unconvincingly, if truth be told.

Sighing, Harry regarded Draco thoughtfully. He _did_ want to go back to Headquarters – he missed not only Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, but the rest of the surviving Order, too. He wanted to open presents in front of a warm fireplace with his friends, wanted to see Remus and Tonks in their well-deserved post-engagement happiness. But at the same time, he also wanted to do something else, something which he could only do with Draco Malfoy…

"I'm not going."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, I'm not –"

"I know, but _why_?"

Harry held up the two bags he'd brought back from Diagon Alley. "I didn't buy all of this just to let it go to waste."

For a moment, there was silence, and Harry was afraid that Draco would tell him to go to Headquarters anyway, but then, with the slightest hint of gratitude beneath his sullen tone, he muttered, "Whatever."

A grin broke across Harry's face. "Good. Because you're going to like this."

Draco shot him a wary look, but there was no mistrust behind it, which pleased Harry and made an unidentifiable warmth rise in his chest.

"You remember number eleven on your list? 'Spend a night in the Shrieking Shack'?"

Draco nodded, once again looking surprised that Harry had remembered.

"I was wondering if… maybe, y'know, you wanted to do that. Tonight."

"What?" said Draco blankly, as if Harry were speaking to him in a foreign language.

"I know how to get there," Harry clarified. For some reason, he was starting to feel nervous, so he scuffed at the ground with his feet and twirled his wand between his fingers, wondering why Draco was taking so damn long to say yes.

"I can't leave the grounds," said Draco unhelpfully, "my wand's being tracked."

"Didn't you temporarily block the tracking charm when we went to Hogsmeade?" Harry pointed out. He was quickly growing frustrated with Draco's lack of cooperation. _He_ had thought it was a brilliant idea when he came up with it.

Draco snorted. "I never said that, Potter. Some dim-witted first year left her wand lying around in the library, so I stole it."

"You – what? You returned it, though, right?"

Draco made a noncommittal noise, which Harry took for a "yes". However, that didn't help their current predicament.

"You're just going to have to leave your wand behind, then," said Harry matter-of-factly.

"Leave my wand behind?" Draco repeated incredulously, staring at Harry as if he had grown an extra head. "Are you mad? You want me to willingly spend a night in a haunted dwelling without even my wand to protect me?"

"I'll be there."

Draco fell silent. It was clear that he hadn't been expecting Harry to accompany him.

"What, you thought I was going to let you go alone?" said Harry lightly. He forced a smile. "Can't have you escaping, remember?"

The surprise on Draco's face vanished with an exhale of breath, and his eyes narrowed to slits. "Yes, of course," he said tersely.

Guilt prickled at Harry's insides; he had not intended to lie about his reason for going with Draco. But he just couldn't bring himself to say that he _wanted_ to spend time with the other boy. It was one thing to acknowledge it, but quite another to admit it.

"D'you want to go soon, then?" said Harry lamely, in an attempt to break the awkward silence. "I mean, because I told Ron and Hermione I'd spend the rest of break with them, starting tomorrow…"

This was clearly the wrong thing to say. The silence returned, thicker than ever and accompanied by a murderous expression on Draco's face.

"I could nick some food from the kitchens and we could take it with us. I have some blankets that – oh for Merlin's sake, Malfoy, stop it! I'm doing you a favour, okay?"

"Because you 'can't have me escaping', right?" Draco mocked, his lip curling. Harry could tell that he had been waiting to say this for a long time. "Stop deluding yourself, Potter, you're only doing the Ministry favours."

Harry jumped to defend himself. "That's not true!" he said furiously. Draco had no right to twist his intentions around like that, not when he was doing everything in his power to make sure Draco got what he wanted.

"Oh? Is that why everything you've done so far is only to keep me checked?_'I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for Tonks, because I'm sure she has better things to do than waste her time with filth like you.'_ That's all it is, remember?"

Draco spat the words out, and each one hit Harry like a slap across the face. It was true – he _had_ said that. But that didn't mean that…

"That's not the way things are anymore!" Harry exclaimed, flustered and stumbling over his words. "When I said that, I didn't… the circumstances have changed since then. What I said in the library, that's the truth, that's what –"

"And how have they changed?" Draco's raised voice rang across the empty corridor and drowned out Harry's protests. "I'm still going to get Kissed, you're still watching every move I make, the wizarding world still hates me, you've still got Weasley –"

"What's Ron got to do with anything?" Harry asked, nonplussed.

"Not_him_, his filthy little sister –"

"Ginny?" Harry interrupted again, still confused. "She hasn't done anything to you."

But Draco's eyes were wide and fearful above the hand he had slapped over his mouth; apparently he had uttered something he shouldn't have. Bewildered, Harry watched as Draco slowly lowered his hand and averted his eyes.

"Never mind," he mumbled, his temper deflating quicker than a punctured balloon.

Taken aback, Harry protested, "But you said –"

"Never_mind_," Draco snarled. "I'm going to get some sleep. Meet me in the Entrance Hall at five."

And without waiting for Harry's reply, he stomped down the hallway, leaving Harry stock-still and gaping in his wake. Not until the sound of approaching footsteps startled him into moving did it occur to Harry that Draco's trust in him had reached a level such that he was willing to walk, wandless, into a supposedly haunted hovel with only Harry to protect him.

---

Draco, however, didn't get his much-needed rest. Instead, he lay wide awake on his bed, staring blankly at his ceiling and listening to the sounds of the other Slytherins enjoying their Christmas presents.

He wasn't evading sleep out of fear that he'd dream of Dementors and scabby hands pulling him towards a dark, shadowed hood, though it was true that these dreams were becoming more frequent and that they would have been a sensible excuse for Draco's sleeplessness. It wasn't even his visit to his mother that had scared the sleep out of him, though Merlin knew how much the image of her in her cell tormented him. The truth was, he couldn't stop thinking about Harry.

For the past few nights, all he had done was think about Harry. As he lay awake, unwilling to leave his dormitory for fear of coming across Nott or one of the other less forgiving Slytherins (though, thankfully, the former was no longer an issue), Draco thought about all the things he had done with Harry that day and filed them away in specific compartments of his memory. Most of the time, he didn't have much to think about. On those nights, he would fall asleep quickly. But some nights, he could stay up for hours, just recalling every little word, gesture, and smile Harry had directed at him that day and wondering if he would still remember them a day, a week, a month from then.

What bothered Draco the most was that, somewhere along the line, he had memorised Harry's face. He had memorised the mop of unruly black hair that surrounded it, the straight nose, the stubborn jaw, the thin lips, the startling green eyes that never seemed to miss a thing. And then he had memorised the way that hair stuck out ungracefully in every which way, regardless of how many times it was self-consciously flattened; the way those lips parted slightly with each exhale and inhale of breath (Draco had never noticed before how Harry rarely breathed through his nose); the way those eyes lit up with eager expectancy whenever someone was about to answer a pressing question of his. Hell, Draco had even memorised the shape of Harry's hideous glasses.

But even though he had taken the time to take note of all these small details, Draco was only half-way through to realising one thing: that the only difference between this troubling fixation on Harry's appearance and the bout of similar fascination he had experienced on the Hogwarts Express was that the panic he had felt then over his imminent death was no longer the source of his mysterious feelings, and that now it was something else, something far less comprehensible and far more unsettling, that drove him to give a damn about the curve of Harry's neck.

Now, Draco wasn't a fool. He knew perfectly well that he was becoming slightly obsessed with Harry. He also knew that said obsession could not bring about good things for anyone, himself especially; so, firmly pushing Harry out of his mind, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and got up. He'd go take a stroll to pass the remaining time before five o'clock, and maybe take in sights prettier than Harry's face.

---

By half past five, Draco and Harry were striding down the Entrance Hall, the brittle silence between them the only evidence of their earlier row. Harry carried the two bags he'd brought back from Diagon Alley and his Invisibility Cloak, while Draco had two blankets and _Hogwarts: A History_ tucked under his arm.

As they walked past the Great Hall, which was already beginning to fill with students, Harry muttered something under his breath. Draco automatically turned to look at him.

"What?"

"I said, it doesn't look like they put as much effort into these decorations as they used to," Harry repeated, in a louder voice.

Draco craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the interior of the Great Hall. Harry was right. The Great Hall was always the most heavily decorated part of the castle, yet the garlands of holly and mistletoe, glittering icicles, and twelve Christmas trees weren't nearly as extravagant as they had once been. The sparkling, multi-coloured clouds of live fairies were absent, as were the large flakes of snow that fell from the enchanted ceiling.

Shrugging, Draco replied, "I doubt anyone cares."

It was true – the holiday spirit was all but absent from Hogwarts this year. Most of the students they passed wore expressions ranging from glum to outright miserable. Draco had a feeling they were remembering the war and the family members with whom they could have been enjoying their breaks this very moment it had never happened. For the first time, he felt like he could empathise with all of them, regardless of their houses.

Harry had opened his mouth to answer, but before he could get a word out, a hand grabbed Draco's arm and stopped him mid-stride.

"Let go," he said angrily, then stopped when he saw that the hand on his arm belonged to Pansy Parkinson.

"Hi, Draco," she said, beaming at him.

Draco looked round; Harry had stopped, and was watching them curiously. "Hi," he said stiffly. "Sorry, Pansy, but I've got to –"

"I know you're probably busy, but I just wanted to say Happy Christmas," she said. Her round eyes travelled over Draco's shoulder and widened when they landed on Harry. "Draco," she hissed, her voice dropping so that Draco had to lean in to hear her, "what're you doing with _him_?"

Draco felt a flash of annoyance. "Nothing," he said bracingly.

Pansy gave him a worried look. "You know, you really should stop being seen with riff-raff like him. Our lot aren't very happy with you, Drake, you know that. They were positively furious when they found out that Theodore and Malcolm had been expelled. They said that they were going to get you and Potter back for it. I told them that it wasn't your fault because Potter had you bewitched, but I can't keep helping you… you've got to apologise and tell them yourself!"

"Tell them what?" said Draco blankly. "The truth? That Nott attacked me and left me to die?"

"That's not – you didn't have to –" Pansy stammered, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt.

"It's what happened, and you know it, Pansy. I have nothing to apologise for."

Draco glared at Pansy, daring her to continue. Any person with half a mind would have balked at that glare, but Pansy, being less intelligent than the average person, pressed on.

"Tracey reckons you should've blamed the attack on Potter," she whispered. "That way you could've proven your true loyalty."

Indignation at the very thought of blaming Harry for something he would never do bubbled up inside of Draco. Shaking his head, he said coldly, "My true loyalty was to the Dark Lord and my father, not to you or the rest of our house, though I may have believed it at one point in my life. Now that they're gone, it belongs to no one but myself."

Relief swept across Pansy's hard features. "Then you're not on Potter's side? You still hate him?"

The prickling on the back of Draco's neck informed him that Harry's eyes were on him. Setting his jaw, he said shortly, "I'm on no one's side."

"But –"

"Happy Christmas, Pansy," he said, cutting her off. "You can tell the rest of them that I look forward to seeing them follow their new ringleader around like ugly, pathetic dogs as soon as they appoint one."

And, turning his back on her, he grabbed Harry's wrist and towed him down the Entrance Hall to the front doors.

---

"That was brilliant!" Harry insisted ten minutes later as he and Draco traipsed through a thick blanket of snow towards the Whomping Willow, their cloaks clutched tightly around them. It was already starting to get dark, and the cold winter wind beating against them was ruthless.

"No, it wasn't," Draco fumed. "I just lost the only person speaking to the Slytherins on my behalf."

"Oh, come off it," said Harry consolingly, "Pansy will come running back to you first thing next morning, trust me. She's obsessed with you."

"You don't understand, Potter," said Draco, and even though it was dark, Harry could tell that he was gritting his teeth. "She hasn't got any sympathy for me if I'm not loyal to our housemates."

"You don't need her, then," said Harry easily, stopping just beyond reach of the Whomping Willow's thrashing branches. He searched the ground, and found a long stick a few feet away.

"Tell me if it looks like it's about to get me, will you?" said Harry. He edged forwards, stretching his arms as far as they would go, reaching for the knot in the trunk, and – there. The tree immediately froze, the silhouettes of its gnarled branches looking almost comical against the rapidly darkening sky.

Draco cleared his throat after Harry had dropped the stick. "How… how do you know about this passageway?" he asked, sounding both nervous and curious.

For a moment, Harry considered telling Draco about the Marauder's Map. But something stopped him – he had already told Draco quite a bit, really, and the Marauder's Map was dear to him, a relic of his dad's days. "I have my ways," he said simply. "C'mon, let's go."

Harry lit his wand with a whispered "_Lumos!_" as he squeezed through the gap in the tree's roots. It was cold in the tunnel; the earth around him was frozen solid. Once he was sure that Draco had followed, Harry began to crawl through the cramped space, the icy ground numbing his hands and knees.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Draco hissed from behind him.

"Yeah, I've used it before," said Harry bracingly.

"It's fucking freezing down here…"

"Well, there's not much I can do about it, is there?" said Harry testily. "Now stop whinging, this won't take long."

Sure enough, the ground soon began to slope upwards, and within a matter of minutes, Harry emerged into a small, disorganised room. He slithered out of the tunnel and flexed his shoulders, glad to be out of the low passageway. Crouching down, he offered his hand to Draco. Rather than accepting it, Draco shot Harry a withering glare and eased himself smoothly out of the hole.

"This is the inside of the Shrieking Shack?" Draco muttered, his nose wrinkling as his eyes scanned the dust-covered floor and furniture (or remnants thereof). Harry detected a note of fear in the other boy's voice, and remembered that Draco still thought the place was haunted.

Laughing, Harry said teasingly, "Well, the evil spirits in here haven't much need for housekeeping."

Draco scowled at Harry. "Shut up."

Harry shrugged good-naturedly and turned to survey the room. It appeared to have once been a drawing room, because there was a boarded-up fireplace set into the far wall and a sagging sofa with chunks torn out of its seat cushions near the door leading into the hallway. All the other furniture had been made of wood and thus destroyed by Lupin during his transformations.

"Well… I guess we'll just have to…" Harry gave a hopeful sweep of his wand. A few broken chair legs and most of the dust vanished. Pointing at the fireplace, he said, "_Reducto!_" The boards sealing the fireplace shattered, sending splinters of wood flying in every which way. Wincing, Harry waved his wand a second time to clear the debris.

An exasperated sigh made him turn around. "What?" he said irritably.

"Honestly, you're hopeless, Potter." Draco swept past Harry, taking Harry's wand as he passed, and began Transfiguring the spare chunks of wood Harry had missed into simple but comfy-looking furniture: two chairs, another sofa, and a low table.

"Wow," said Harry, genuinely impressed, "how did you do that?"

"I paid attention in Fourth-Year Transfiguration," said Draco, smirking as he handed Harry's wand back to him. "Anyway, this dump is still hardly fit for residence, not to mention rather hard on the eyes, but it'll have to do."

"I'm sure you've seen much worse," said Harry without thinking.

There was a very pregnant pause, during which Harry realised that his statement must have been interpreted as a reference to the war – a subject, he had learned since their conversation on the stairway, which ought to be avoided at all costs. Cringing, he quickly amended, "Not that… y'know, it matters."

But it was too late; the damage had been done. The smug expression slid off of Draco's face, and his eyes immediately adopted their familiar haunted look. "Yeah, I've stayed in worse," said Draco quietly.

Harry avoided Draco's eyes as he hurried over to the dusty fireplace. "Why don't we get the fire started?" he suggested, his tone falsely cheerful. "Um… what was the incantation… oh, yeah._Incendio!_"

Flames burst into life on the grate, instantly chasing away the chill in the desolate little room. Harry's exhaustion, which he had been putting off all day, came rushing back to him, and he collapsed onto the sofa Draco had conjured with a grateful sigh.

"These aren't bad," he said approvingly.

"Yeah, well," said Draco, as he sank into one of the armchairs, "when you spend months sleeping on hard ground, you learn to do this sort of stuff."

And then, without a further word, Draco balanced _Hogwarts: A History_ on his lap, opened it to his bookmarked page, and began reading, as if he were back in the Hogwarts library and not miles away from the castle against the Ministry's orders.

Several minutes passed. Draco seemed to have forgotten that Harry was there, because he had curled up like a contented cat, eyes fixed intently on his book, looking uncharacteristically relaxed. His pale face was bathed in the soft, reddish orange glow radiating from the hearth, its normally sharp lines softened by the dancing shadows. Each time he exhaled, his white-blond fringe fluttered gently into his eyes, but he made no attempt to brush the locks of hair away. Eyelashes dark and lowered, Draco looked so peaceful that he could have been sleeping.

As the silence stretched on, Harry became uncomfortably aware of something great swelling inside his chest, a strange, powerful emotion which pressed against his ribcage and made it difficult to breathe. He squirmed in his seat and tried to ignore it, but the longer he gazed at Draco, the more unbearable it became, until he was forced to stand up and say loudly, "Be right back."

Draco grunted, but didn't look away from his reading. As quietly as he could, Harry picked up his bags, left the sitting room, and found his way to the nearest room. It was a derelict place, covered in a layer of dust so thick that it stifled Harry's footsteps as he entered. A rusty stove and cracked counter indicated that the room had once been a kitchen.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. What was wrong with him? For he now recognised the earlier sensation in his chest: it was the same thing he'd felt when he gazed down upon Ginny's sleeping form every morning in the week before they left for Hogwarts. It was affection.

But how could he feel affection for Draco? He didn't even _like_ Draco very much. He felt nothing like the fire which burned every time he laid eyes on Ginny. Or used to burn, at least, because lately the fire had dulled to something more along the lines of a pleasant warmth. Of course, that was just because he rarely got to see Ginny outside of classes… wasn't it?

Clearing these puzzling thoughts with a shake of his head, Harry set to work on one of the surprises he had planned for Draco. He wasn't very good at conjuring large objects out of thin air, so he had picked up a fallen evergreen branch on the way to the Whomping Willow earlier. Now, he took this out of his pocket and placed it on the floor. Pointing his wand at it, he screwed up his face in concentration and whispered, "_Augmenta!_"

With a shower of sparks, the branch jumped a few inches into the air and began rapidly dividing into two, three, ten, twenty branches, each of which continued to split into more. The common branch connecting these dividing branches thickened and lengthened, growing into a trunk. Finally, with a muffled _thump_, the stubby Christmas tree fell onto the dust-covered floor.

Harry frowned at it. Not quite what he had hoped for, but it'd have to suffice. Waving his wand so that the tree was hovering upright an inch or so above the floor, Harry made quick work of the decorations. Within a matter of seconds, the tree was decked with glowing holly berries, a light dusting of snow, glittering, lifelike icicles, and shimmering fairy lights. For good measure, Harry added a few candy canes to the branches and a magnificent silver star to the very top of the tree.

Pleased with his handiwork, Harry gave his wand a little twirl so that the Christmas tree preceded him out of the kitchen as he levitated it into the sitting room.

Draco didn't look up when Harry re-entered the room. He seemed to be as absorbed in his reading as ever. He did, however, notice Harry's cough. "What is it?" he asked impatiently, glancing up.

Immediately, the cross look on his face vanished.

---

Draco's mouth fell open as he took in the sight of the sparkling Christmas tree and Harry standing next to it, wearing a broad, self-satisfied smirk. At first, his mind refused to comprehend the scene. _Surely Potter couldn't have hidden a bloody Christmas tree under his cloak_, it reminded him.

But then Harry sent the blasted thing over to the clear area next to the hearth, and the sight of the firelight glinting off the icicles that decorated the branches confirmed it: this was a real Christmas tree, and Harry was responsible for it.

Abruptly, Draco placed _Hogwarts: A History_ on the table and stood up.

"I Transfigured it," said Potter amusedly, noticing Draco's shock. "You said you wanted to – oh, wait." He pointed his wand at the doorway opening into the hallway and said loudly, "_Accio bags!_"

The two shopping bags he'd brought with him zoomed into the room and landed at Harry's feet. Flashing a grin at Draco, he leaned down, rummaged around inside one of the bags, and extracted a square, wrapped parcel, which he placed under the Christmas tree.

"There," he said happily, stepping back to admire his work.

Draco's voice finally returned to him. "What in the name of Merlin?" he croaked.

Harry's grin widened; he now looked positively gleeful. "There's more."

Before Draco could start wondering what else Harry could possibly have done, Harry bent over and pulled two large bottles out of the bags at his feet. Draco moved closer and saw that they were bottles of beer.

"How did you get that?" Draco spluttered, gaping. "They don't sell alcohol –"

"– to regular Hogwarts students. I'm not your average student, though." Harry waggled his eyebrows. Then, as if he could tell that this bit of information was opening new possibilities to Draco, he added firmly, "But this is just a one-time thing. It's never happening again. I just bought these so that you could get number four over with."

"You went all the way to Diagon Alley to buy alcohol, and you couldn't have gotten something better?" said Draco dubiously. "Beer is for people like Weasley, isn't it? I would've preferred wine or mead – Ogden's is fine, too, although –"

"Beer," said Harry bracingly, cutting him off, "is all you're going to get. I didn't have enough on me for anything better, and besides, I don't trust you with anything stronger."

Draco sighed with resignation. "Then I suppose champagne is out of the question? Even for the holidays?"

Harry frowned severely at him. "Don't push your luck, Malfoy."

"But I don't want to –"

Draco broke off there and bit his lip. He had been about to say that he didn't want to do it in front of Harry, because Merlin knew what sorts of humiliating things he'd do and say, but he couldn't think of a way to say it without making things more awkward. So, instead, he mumbled, "You did this for me?"

Harry looked disconcerted by the way Draco had phrased the obvious fact. "Well – yeah. A simple thanks would do, y'know."

But rather than thanking Harry, Draco reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out his list. He crouched down next to the table and spread it out flat. Slowly, with his bottom lip between his teeth, he examined it. Then, standing up, he nodded, ignoring the nervous squirming of his insides.

"Okay, let's get to it, then."


	17. A Change

A/N: Today is this fic's one year anniversary:) On November 10, 2006, I came up with the plot, wrote the summary, changed the name from Miraculous to Some Kind of Miracle, and started writing it. Here's to our boys finally getting together in the year to come!

As always, thanks to my lovely betas Christine and Vana :)

_It's the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance  
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance  
It's the one who won't be taken who cannot seem to give  
And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live_

- Bette Midler, "The Rose"

**Chapter 16:** A Change

"Five months," Draco murmured, staring into the fire. "Five months before my soul gets sucked out of me. It's funny how we never think these things will happen to us until we have no choice but to face them, isn't it, Potter?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, unsure as to how to receive this remark. "I suppose…"

Draco seemed to be satisfied with this answer, because he took another swig of beer and fell silent. Harry observed him. It had been a few hours (a glance at his watch told Harry that it was now nearing ten o'clock) since Draco took his first sip of drink, and he had been drinking steadily since. It came as a surprise to Harry, then, that aside from two bright pink spots in his cheeks, the other boy showed no signs of drunkenness yet. His tone was steady, if not slightly more pleasant than usual, and he seemed to be retaining full control over his motor functions.

"Why d'you want to get drunk?" Harry asked, pushing concerns about Draco's alcohol tolerance out of his mind. He left out the other part of his question: _Why would you want to purposely make a fool out of yourself?_

"Dunno," said Draco. He sighed and shifted so that he was lying on his stomach on the couch. "Never done it before… Wanted to see what it was like, I guess."

"Well?" Harry prompted. "What does it feel like?"

"So far, not much," said Draco grumpily. "My head feels a bit funny, but that's it, really."

Harry snorted, picked up _Hogwarts: A History_ from the table, and began flipping through it. "At least you're not spilling your deepest, darkest secrets yet."

He looked up to smirk at Draco, and was surprised to find that the other boy's light grey irises had darkened to the colour of slate, making his pupils barely noticeable. Slightly unnerved, Harry looked back down at the book.

"How come you're not having any?" Draco demanded. Harry unwillingly looked up again. Draco looked frustrated. "You bought it, why not indulge yourself?"

"I don't drink for the sole purpose of getting pissed," said Harry blandly. He gestured at the bottle of butterbeer sitting on his side of the table. "Butterbeer cuts it for me."

Draco's frown deepened. "What if you knew you were going to die tomorrow? Would that change your mind?"

This question startled Harry so much that he accidentally slammed the book on his lap closed. "What?"

"I said, if I told you that you were going to get eaten by the giant squid tomorrow afternoon, would you drink this beer right now?" The query was posed so directly that Harry had a faint suspicion that Draco had been waiting to voice it.

Slowly, Harry sat up a little straighter on his chair. "If I knew I was going to get eaten by the giant squid tomorrow" – he suppressed a laugh – "I wouldn't be here having this discussion with you."

"Why not?"

"I'd be with Ron and Hermione. And Ginny. And everyone else. I'd want to spend my last moments with the people I love most."

Draco regarded him blankly. "Lucky you. Wish I had people I love to spend my last moments with…"

A strong feeling of pity rose in Harry. "Oh," he said quietly. He knew now for sure that Draco was on his way to drunkenness, because he was quite sure a sober Draco would never admit such a thing out loud.

Several more minutes passed in silence, but Harry didn't feel compelled to do anything about it. Instead, he too stared into the fire, as though the answer to the emotions swirling inside of him lay in the crackling flames.

"I hate my life," said Draco after a while.

"I hate your life, too," Harry agreed automatically, and the pity intensified, making it almost unbearable. To his horror, he felt the insides of his eyelids prickle and an odd lump rise in his throat.

Draco swallowed another gulp of beer and flipped around so that he was on his side and facing Harry. "What else would you do if you were going to die tomorrow?"

Harry quickly blinked away his unseen tears. "Dunno," he said. "Maybe fly around on my Firebolt. Anything that makes me happy, really." He laced his fingers behind his head. "I wouldn't make a list, though. I wouldn't want to plan my last few hours alive."

"I reckon most people wouldn't," said Draco, his tone contemplative. He took another sip of beer; Harry resisted the urge to tell him to stop. "I wouldn't want to die a virgin."

"A vir–_what?!_" Harry spluttered, almost spitting out the butterbeer he'd just swallowed.

"You know what I mean, Potter."

"No, it's just that – I thought – you've never shagged anyone?" Harry finally managed to stammer.

Draco drew himself up slightly. "Of course not," he said indignantly, though the effect was rather ruined by the beer he spilt down his sleeve as he pushed himself onto his elbows, "Malfoys don't make a habit of shagging girls, at least not in school. It's a useless and, quite frankly, disgusting practice."

"Then why do you want to do it?" Harry asked matter-of-factly.

"Because… just because." Draco looked away, as if embarrassed, and then said quietly, "So are you…?"

Confused, Harry furrowed his brows. Then it hit him what Draco was trying to ask. _I'm discussing my sex life with Draco Malfoy_, he thought, awed at this bizarre realisation.

"Yeah," he said automatically, wincing at the lie. Well, _technically_ he wasn't, but… that time with Ginny, he hadn't exactly been in his right mind…

Draco seemed to read his thoughts. "You're not, are you?" he said in an almost accusatory tone. When Harry, blushing, shook his head, his eyes widened. "Please don't tell me it was the female Weasel."

Harry quickly steered the conversation to safer waters. "But you've had a girlfriend, haven't you? Pansy Parkinson?"

"Yeah, in a way," said Draco vaguely. He tossed his now-empty bottle of beer away and reached for another one. "We never did anything, though. Mostly talked. It wasn't so much a relationship as a… I dunno. Partnership. The boys followed me, the girls followed her. Seemed like a good idea at the time for us to be together."

"Are you having me on?" said Harry, surprised. He had always seen Draco and Pansy as the type of couple who'd be attached at the lips, rather like Ron and Lavender had been. "So you haven't… you've never snogged anyone?"

"No," said Draco unabashedly. He rolled his eyes at Harry's shocked expression. "Sorry, but I was too busy fulfilling my duty to the Dark Lord to waste time satisfying my sex drive."

"I never said anything about a sex drive!" said Harry hotly. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "But, um, you kissed me. At the beginning of the year."

"Yeah." Now it was Draco's turn to blush. "That was… the first time for me."

Harry's eyes widened. "Really?" He paused, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "No wonder you were so terrible at it."

Draco scowled and took another swallow of beer. Coughing, he said, "You should be honoured, you ungrateful bastard."

Leaning forward, Harry rested his elbows on his knees, bringing his face almost level with Draco's. Thoughtfully, he asked, "Why'd you choose me? It doesn't make much sense for your first kiss to be with someone you hate."

"Didn't think of it as anything special," Draco replied, shrugging. "'S just a kiss. You said yourself that your first kiss with Chang didn't mean anything."

"How'd you know that?" Harry demanded indignantly.

"Word travels fast."

Harry gazed at Draco, slowly absorbing this information. "But… I'm not a girl."

"Finally realised, have you?" said Draco, smirking sloppily.

Harry chewed on his lower lip. "But wouldn't that mean you're –?"

"I didn't think of you as one at the time, okay?" Draco suddenly exploded. "You're just Harry Potter to me. So no, before you ask,_I'm not queer_."

"Okay, okay," said Harry, holding up his hands, though he still couldn't decipher Draco's line of thinking. "Just… never mind."

Draco hmphed and turned his back to Harry. With a sigh, Harry ran a hand through his hair, adjusted his glasses, and returned to reading_Hogwarts: A History_, his brain abuzz with other thoughts.

---

Half an hour slipped by, during which the only sounds that penetrated the silence were those of Draco downing his fifth drink. Finally, he set the bottle down on the table with a loud _clunk_ and announced, rather unsteadily, "I think I'm drunk enough."

Harry looked up, and Draco caught a flicker of amusement in his green eyes. "Do you?"

"Yeah," said Draco, squinting. His vision was starting to blur very slightly along the edges, and there was now a vague sense of disconnect between his mind and body. Even as he spoke, his lips had trouble forming the words he wanted to say. "Potty – I mean, Potter, can you hand me my list?"

Harry smirked in a very infuriating manner. "You know," he said conversationally, as he bent over to pick up the crumpled and stained sheet of parchment from the floor, "most people would take being smashed as an opportunity to go out and do… different things."

"Oh?" said Draco distractedly. He took the list from Harry (it took him two tries; the first time, he accidentally grabbed Harry's sleeve), spread it out on the table before him, and pulled out a quill from his pocket. "I'd say spending a night in the Shrieking Shack is different."

"But it's not exciting if you're just sitting there," Harry pointed out, watching as Draco clumsily tried to cross out each of the items he'd accomplished in the past few days. "Give it here, I'll do it."

Draco grudgingly handed the list over and watched as Harry made five even strikes. When Harry gave the parchment back, Draco held it out in front of him and examined the changes made to it.

_1. __Be invisible._

_2. Climb a tree all the way to the top._

_3. Ride a Thestral._

_4. __Get drunk._

_5. Hold a civil conversation with a member of each house._

_6. __Kiss my worst enemy._

_7. Read__Hogwarts: A History_

_8. Sleep under the stars._

_9. Brew Felix Felicis._

_10. Conquer my worst fear._

_11.__Spend a night in the Shrieking Shack._

_12.__Visit Mother in Azkaban._

_13. Save someone's life._

_14. Skip classes for one day with no excuse._

_15. Learn to swim._

_16.__Make a snow angel._

_17. Watch a sunset and the next morning's sunrise._

_18. Get my ears pierced._

_19.__Open presents by a Christmas tree._

_20. Avenge Father's death._

_21. Be a Secret Keeper._

_22. Fall in love._

_23. Be loved in return._

_24. Beat Harry Potter._

_25. Witness a miracle._

"I haven't finished eleven and nineteen, though," said Draco logically.

Harry laughed. "You're in the process of doing them."

"I'm also in the process of doing seven, nine, and twenty-two, but that doesn't mean I can cross them off, too," Draco argued.

Harry went very still. "What was that?" he asked, his voice so low that Draco almost didn't hear him above the pleasant buzzing that now filled his head.

Eyebrows knitted together, Draco mentally rewinded and replayed his last sentence in his head. _I'm also in the process of finishing seven, nine, and… Oh, bugger._

"Let me see the list, Malfoy."

"No," said Draco quickly, feeling his cheeks heat up. Had he really just admitted that he was falling in love? He hadn't meant to say that! Where had that even come from? Loudly, with just a bite of hysteria in his voice, he told Harry this.

Harry arched an eyebrow. The expression on his face was inscrutable. "Twenty-two is 'fall in love', right?" he said very calmly.

"No," said Draco again, his pulse quickening. _Oh, no_, he thought despairingly. This wasn't good. If Harry found out… But there was no way he'd know, it wasn't as though he was _expecting_ it… He didn't have any reason to suspect it, really… And what was "it", anyway? There was nothing to find out! Draco had no secrets; his tongue had just stumbled on the words… yes, that was it…

"Yes it is, I'm sure of it," said Harry stubbornly. "Give me the list."

"No!" said Draco a third time, clenching the list in his palm. "It's nothing, Potter… really. I'm plastered right now, dunno what I'm saying…"

Harry frowned very severely at him. "Well… okay. Only, I figured you'd tell me if you were in love. It's not Pansy, is it?"

"It's no one," said Draco, in what he hoped was a convincing tone. He wasn't sure if it was convincing enough; he could hardly tell if what he was speaking was English at all. "Seriously, stop, it's no big deal. I saw the number and I said it out loud without meaning to…"

Harry shrugged. Apparently the fact that Draco was undeniably inebriated was good enough of an explanation for him. It was true enough – Draco knew he would never have said what he had said under normal circumstances, and was therefore convinced that it meant nothing.

"Don't think I like being drunk," Draco muttered.

Harry laughed, and all the awkwardness between them instantly melted away. "You can't be that drunk if you're still stringing together coherent sentences. A little tipsy, maybe."

"I s'pose," said Draco. The haze in his head was starting to annoy him, and he couldn't help wishing that he'd never decided to get drunk. "Hey," he suddenly said, struck by inspiration, "you said earlier that you didn't want what you bought to go to waste. But if they're just drinks, why didn't you take them back with you and share them with Weasel and his girlfriend?"

"Because…" Harry began, looking distinctly uncomfortable. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if there was a large object lodged in his throat and he was having trouble getting the words he wanted to say past it. At last he said quietly, "Because they would have gone to waste if they didn't make you happy."

---

Harry winced the moment the words left his mouth. He'd done it. Now Draco would probably freak out and accuse him of getting clingy. First his fit over the idea of Draco falling in love with someone, and now this.

It was as he had said: He wanted Draco to be happy. He was quite sure that he now understood why Dumbledore had acted the way he did, except that what he felt for Draco wasn't love… more like a strange sense of protectiveness. But there was also a dash of pity and obligation in it, and that part bothered Harry. Was Draco right? Was Harry really just doing this because he felt sorry for Draco?

He ventured a look at Draco. The other boy looked mildly confused. When he noticed Harry's eyes on him, he said, "It's getting late. Let's open the presents." He paused, as if remembering something, and added, "Shit, sorry, I didn't get you anything."

Harry sighed in relief. "Yeah, okay, that's fine."

He stood up and walked over to the Christmas tree, Draco stumbling after him. They both sat down near the fireplace, where the rough wooden floor was slightly warmer.

"Here," said Harry almost shyly, as he handed the wrapped parcel he'd brought with him to Draco.

Draco hesitated before taking it. "If I'd known, I would've… gotten you something," he said quietly.

"Somehow I doubt that," said Harry, chuckling to cover up his nervousness. "It's all right… go on, open it. You can't complete number nineteen if you only have the Christmas tree, remember?"

"True," said Draco, his voice dropping so low that he was almost whispering. To Harry's dismay, he looked miserable. Torn between asking him what was wrong and not wanting to set off his temper, Harry said nothing.

Draco's fingers flitted over the wrapping paper, unwrapping it neatly and quickly. When he pulled out the gift – a leather-bound copy of_Hogwarts: A History_ – his eyes widened.

"I inscribed your name on the binding," said Harry, feeling rather silly now. He turned the book over and pointed at the small, uneven inscription. "Did it earlier today, after we came back. I, er, figured you didn't want to keep going up to the library to borrow their version… it's a bit torn up, so I thought… yeah."

Draco's mouth twisted into an odd half smirk, half smile. "It's lovely," he said.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but at that very moment, he felt it: something had shifted between them. Without a word, Draco leaned closer to Harry, so close that…

"Malfoy, you're invading my personal space," Harry feebly joked.

He lifted a hand, intending to use it to push Draco away. But, perhaps because it was well past midnight and the lack of sleep was beginning to affect Harry's brain, what happened instead was something entirely different: Rather than stopping at Draco's shoulder, Harry's hand wandered higher and tentatively brushed Draco's white-blond hair. Before he could stop himself, Harry was running his fingers through the soft strands, revelling in the way they slid between his fingers like ribbons of cool water.

Harry was snapped out of his reverie when, in one impressively swift movement for someone who had downed five bottles of beer, Draco caught his wrist and wrenched it away. The air around them suddenly grew heavy and tense. Even the flickering light issuing from the fireplace seemed to dim as Harry raised his eyes to meet Draco's. He knew, without doubt, that the palpable uncertainty that greeted him there was reflected in his own eyes.

"What is this really, Harry?" Draco asked, his voice low, serious, and entirely slur-free.

The question hung in the air. Without having to be told, Harry knew that by "this", Draco wasn't referring to his unexpected gesture, but to everything he hadn't meant to start when he tipped the vote in McGonagall's favour. It wasn't normal, Harry realised, the undercurrent of indefinable feelings that charged this unforeseen bond between them.

Harry closed his eyes and felt Draco's slow exhalation of breath flutter his lashes. He wracked his mind for a solid answer. Something about obligations and responsibilities, something that would satisfy Draco's craving for reason.

"I don't know," he finally said. He opened his eyes and regarded Draco solemnly. "What do you want it to be?"

Draco's grip on Harry's wrist loosened. "Something I can remember," he half-whispered. "Something I can believe in. And not just because you're bound to it by your stupid Gryffindor honour."

"No, not anymore," said Harry, and it was the truth.

Draco nodded. Harry waited for him to release his wrist, but it never happened. Instead, Draco's grasp slid down to his hand, so that they were all but holding hands. "I don't understand," he said.

"Don't understand what?" said Harry automatically, gazing down at their joined hands with some perplexity.

"Why this scares me almost as much the future," he said softly, and before Harry could say a word, Draco tightened his hold on Harry's hand, leaned forward, and kissed him.

Harry sat, frozen and uncomprehending, as Draco's lips descended upon his. What felt like an eternity of silence crawled by, during which Harry's sluggish conscious mind struggled to register the astonishing fact that the mouth pressed against his once again belonged to _Draco Malfoy_. It wasn't until Draco's hands came up to cradle his face that Harry finally came to his senses and forcibly pushed Draco away.

His head swimming for reasons unrelated to the unpleasant taste of alcohol that now lingered on his lips, Harry whispered the first thing that came to mind: "You said you weren't in love with anyone."

Draco's smile was small and forced. "Who said I was in love with you?" he said, his voice breaking. "This doesn't mean anything, Potter. I don't want you."

And then, as if determined to defy his own words, he pushed Harry against the unused sofa and kissed him again.

This time, Harry parted his lips, though it was more out of surprise than anything else. Draco made a soft noise of approval and deepened the kiss, his hands coming up to clutch shakily at Harry's hair. It was just as awkward as, and yet as different as possible from, their first kiss on the grounds, and Harry thought, with a jolt, _He's never done this before. He's never kissed anyone like this._

"Stop it, Malfoy," Harry pleaded, pulling away with great difficulty. He was trembling from nerves, a storm of feelings he wasn't ready to face, and stirrings of what could have been arousal, but he managed to push Malfoy away for the second time that night. "You're not thinking straight right now. It's late and you've had a long day. Besides, you're drunk… you said you weren't gay –"

"I know what I'm doing," Draco interrupted, his eyes gleaming bright silver in the dim light. He ran a hand down Harry's chest and tugged at his jumper, making Harry's breath catch in his throat. "I'm doing something different and exciting."

Harry jumped slightly when he felt Draco's hands lightly caress the skin just under the hem of his shirt. _This is it_, a voice in the back of his numb mind informed him helpfully, _this is what all that tension between us was about… this is why…_

But why what he never found out, because at that moment, Draco pulled him forward by the collar of his shirt, bringing their faces within an inch of each other.

"So," said Draco, his voice a gentle hiss as he brought his free hand down to Harry's belt buckle, "what do you say?"

_He's using you, Harry_, warned the voice, _he said it himself… he doesn't care about you. Tomorrow morning he's going to wake up and pretend this never happened._

But the feel of Draco's hands on his skin obliterated any effect these thoughts might have had on Harry. With a lurch somewhere in his stomach region, Harry realised that he had wanted this, had wanted it for so long, though out of desperation or pity or true desire remained unknown to him. His barriers collapsing, Harry reached out to pull Draco closer when, all of a sudden and without warning, the little voice in the back of his mind played its last ace: _Ginny_.

Harry froze, his hand hovering midway between him and Draco. "Ginny," he repeated out loud, letting the name slide off his tongue like melting butter. It seemed to reverberate in the air for several long seconds before finally dying away.

Draco's eyes flickered back and forth between each of Harry's, as if searching them for a glimpse of the thoughts that were currently making Harry's head reel. "You don't want her," he said, so frankly that Harry almost believed him for an instant.

"I love her," said Harry, but his voice sounded weak and desperate, even to himself, "and she loves me. I would never betray her… not like this."

The corners of Draco's mouth twitched. "How, then?"

"How –?"

"How would you choose to betray her?"

"I wouldn't!" said Harry fiercely. "Look, I already said –"

"She's a dirty whore, Potter," Draco interrupted coldly, the dull pink flush in his cheeks deepening to red. "Have you even got an idea of how many blokes she fucked before you? Let's see… Hopkins, Corner, Thomas, maybe even Longbottom… Oh, and I know Blaise said he'd never touch a blood traitor like her, but who knows… Always suspected he wouldn't've passed up the chance to shag her up against the nearest –"

"Shut it, Malfoy," said Harry, his voice shaking from rage.

"What're you going to do if I don't?" mocked Draco, the faintest trace of a slur sliding back behind his words. "Gonna curse me? Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, Potter… No one would ever know… And you could go back to your slut of a girlfriend, tell her that Draco Malfoy tried –"

"SHUT_UP_!" Harry roared. Two of the empty bottles lying on the floor exploded with considerable force, but Harry paid them no heed. "Don't talk about Ginny that way!"

Draco sneered, and Harry couldn't help remembering that those lips had been doing something entirely different just a few minutes ago. He shuddered violently, trying to push the thought out of his head.

"Fine," Draco said, his grey eyes glittering, "fine, I won't say any more about her. But remember… by the time you've realised that you're only going out with her because you'll do anything to worm your way into the Weasley brood, someone else will have fallen in love with me and I won't need you anymore."

Harry gaped at Draco, grappling to wrap his mind around these bold words. Never mind the jab at Harry's intentions behind dating Ginny; what did Draco mean by "someone else will have fallen in love with me"?

At once, Harry felt a sickening stab of jealousy. _Jealousy_. And not the protective kind this time… the kind that made him resolve to dismember anyone who dared fall in love with Draco, because the job of helping Draco go through his list belonged to Harry, and Harry only.

So he had been wrong earlier. Maybe, just maybe, he did feel some twisted form of affection for Draco… just a little bit. But it was nothing more than an exaggeration of their strange little friendship, a result of spending too much time with one single person. It certainly wasn't love, like Draco was implying; Harry would never cheat on Ginny. Besides, he was quite positive that he liked girls – though, upon further reflection, he was surprised to find that he was not at all uncomfortable with the idea of being gay, despite having been raised in a homophobic household. It had just never occurred to him as a possibility.

Harry inhaled deeply and counted to five in his head. "Why – why don't we just go to sleep?" he suggested, his tone one of forced calm, though he was still seething over Draco's cruel comments and wracked with confusion over everything else. "It's nearly midnight, and I've got to leave early tomorrow morning."

Draco shrugged noncommittally. All of his earlier malice seemed to have drained out of him as quickly as it had come. Harry vaguely recalled Tonks saying something about how drinking either brought out the best or the worst in a person. He couldn't help but feel that in Draco's case, it brought out both the best _and_ the worst. In a way, it was frightening, how quickly the other boy's moods had switched.

"Er – so do you want to sleep here?" asked Harry tentatively. "Or… I suppose we could use the beds, but I reckon no one's used those for a while, so they must be –"

"Here," Draco interrupted, "I'll sleep here, by the fire."

He nodded at the heap of blankets lying near the secret entranceway, and Harry flicked his wand in their direction, causing them to zoom over and land on his lap. He tossed one to Draco.

Harry watched distractedly as Draco got to his feet, rather unsteadily, and walked over to the sofa. Angry though he was with Draco, he did not remark on the fact that Draco had selfishly left him to sleep on one of the chairs.

"You can go sleep on one of the beds or whatever," muttered Draco, once he had stretched himself out on the sofa and tugged the blanket up to his chin, so that he looked like a drowsy child. "Just… do me a favour and stay here for a while longer, will you? Zabini used to say that Dementors haunted this place… and seeing as you're the one with the wand…"

Draco trailed off, his face now visibly sheet-white beneath the rosy glow cast by the dying firelight; it was as if the thought alone of Dementors was enough to drain him of happiness. For a fleeting moment, Harry contemplated purposely leaving the room just to teach Draco a lesson about badmouthing Ginny, but this idea was chased away by feelings of guilt almost instantly. Draco, for all his spite, had willingly given up his wand and let Harry lead him away from the safety of the school; how could Harry betray his trust now, when he looked so terrified? Sure, Harry knew that Dementors were no more likely to show up here at the Shrieking Shack than at the Ministry now that the war was over, but all the same…

"Yeah, okay," Harry sighed, not bothering to correct Draco's irrational fear. He got up and moved over to the comfier looking of the two chairs, Vanishing the empty bottles and broken glass littering the floor with a sweep of his wand as he went. Settling down under the warm blanket, Harry said quietly, "Happy Christmas, Malfoy."

Draco's eyes shone silver again as they blearily fixed themselves on Harry's face. "It's past midnight," he said softly.

Harry looked away and said nothing.

The night stretched on as the sound of Draco's slowly deepening breaths, underscored by the faint howling of the wind outside, filled the room. Harry sighed and pulled his blanket tighter around him. As he stared unseeingly into the flickering flames in the grate, it occurred to him how strangely disconnected he felt from the life that lay outside the shuddering walls around him at the moment. Locked up in this little shack, it seemed incomprehensible to Harry that there was another world out there… a world in which Sirius, Dumbledore, the Weasleys, and so many of his close friends no longer existed; a world in which Draco Malfoy was not a regular teenage boy like Harry, but a convicted Death Eater sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. It felt like several days, rather than mere hours, had passed since their visit to Azkaban…

Harry sighed again. His mind wandered, as usual, to thoughts of Draco; or, more specifically, their earlier conversation, out of which he had emerged not entirely convinced. He was sure that Draco had lied when he had said that he wasn't in love with anyone, and… well, it wasn't as though he was on friendly terms with anyone other than Harry at the moment… Could it be that Draco was in love with him after all? Harry's heart gave a traitorous little flutter at the thought, driving him to throw his glasses on the table before him in frustration and bury his face in his hands.

Harry searched his mind for a memory, any memory, which might give him a clue as to why he suddenly felt this way about Draco. When had Draco ever done anything to warrant Harry's attraction to him? He had never been anything but cold and sarcastic to Harry. But then again, since their return to Hogwarts, he had showed a kind of vulnerability that Harry would never have expected from him… And there was no doubt that there was intelligence and wit under all his petty insults… And then there was the air of stubborn independence around him that intrigued Harry and reminded him, in many ways, of Ginny…

Ginny. Ginny was his girlfriend; surely thinking this way about Draco constituted cheating on her. Miserably, Harry rested his chin on his knees and tried to think about Ginny: the way the sunlight glinted off her long curtain of red hair whenever she turned her head, the way her warm brown eyes lit up fervently at the mention of Quidditch, the way her laugh seemed to bring life and excitement to the very air around her…

But it was no use; red morphed into white-blond and brown into light grey, so that Draco's pale, sharp features once again occupied Harry's mind. It was like an infuriating circle of thoughts that Harry couldn't break out of.

Biting his lip to stifle a groan of aggravation, Harry finally allowed himself to look at Draco. Against his will, a small sigh escaped his lips at the sight of the other boy's peaceful slumbering form. It seemed almost absurd that someone whose cheeks flushed so delicately in sleep could have committed murder and dabbled in the Dark Arts.

_Would things have been different_, wondered Harry silently, _if Draco had been born into a family like the Weasleys? Would it have been okay to… feel this way about him?_

With great difficulty, Harry pulled himself out of these thoughts. It would not do to linger over could-have-beens. The Draco that was sleeping serenely a few feet away from Harry would rather slit his throat than be raised by Ron's parents. Besides, even if Draco had never entered Voldemort's service, there was still the very undeniable fact that Harry was attracted to the opposite sex.

With a great yawn, Harry burrowed deeper into the blanket wrapped around him and rested his head on his shoulder. Within moments, he had fallen asleep.

---

He was walking down a narrow forest path, his eyes fixed on the shining silver doe leading him deeper into the dark wilderness before him. Something just off the path rustled, but Harry didn't start; he knew nothing would harm him while he was in the company of Snape's Patronus. He trusted it completely, but even so… they had been walking for a long time now, and Harry was beginning to wonder where the creature was leading him…

Just when Harry was about to ask the doe where they were going, she halted and turned around, fixing her beautiful, luminous eyes on him. For several long seconds, they gazed at each other solemnly. And then, without warning, she blinked and transformed into her master.

Harry instinctively reached for his wand, but it was not there. Panicking, he groped around in his pocket, but it was gone. Trepidation replaced his earlier serenity, and he said loudly to Severus Snape, "What're you doing here?"

"Peace, Potter, I'm not here to harm you," Snape sneered, holding up a hand. He was glowing just as brightly as his Patronus had done moments ago. "I came to tell you to watch over him… Don't let him push you away; he needs you, now more than ever… I made the mistake of letting prejudices get in the way –"

"Who's 'he'?" Harry demanded, cutting Snape off.

Snape's thin lips curled. "I loved your mother…" he whispered.

And then his cold, black pupils contracted into red, snake-like slits, and Voldemort's voice hissed, "Did you hear that, Potter? He loved your mother… your worthless, Muggle-born mother… your mother…"

Harry jolted awake, Voldemort's voice still echoing in his ears, refusing to fade away – and then, with a shock as jarring as being doused with ice water, Harry realised that it Draco's voice, not Voldemort's, that was calling out for his mother.

Scrambling into a sitting position, Harry peered over at Draco's sleeping form. His heart twisted unpleasantly when he saw that there were tear drops glistening at the corners of Draco's eyes. Even as Harry watched, they slid down Draco's pale cheeks, leaving thin, winding rivulets that glistened in the flickering firelight in their wake. He was reminded quite vividly of the instance in sixth year, when he had accidentally caught Draco crying in the boys' bathroom.

Harry gripped the armrests of his seat, his fingers digging into the soft material. There was an uncomfortable crick in his neck, a result of the awkward position in which he had fallen asleep, but he hardly noticed it as he debated whether or not to wake Draco up.

"Mother…" whispered Draco again, his lips barely moving as silent tears slid down his face, "no, please don't tell her… Mother, forgive me…"

Then, just when Harry had decided that he couldn't bear to watch Draco suffer any longer – for it was clear that whatever he was dreaming of was causing him considerable pain – Draco gave a great, shuddering gasp, rolled over so that his back was to Harry, and fell back to his deep, even breathing.

It took several stunned minutes for Harry to realise that he was trembling. Why, he wasn't quite sure – he had seen many people caught in the throes of worse forms of torture than a nightmare. Exhaling shakily, he settled back into a semi-comfortable position in his chair. Try as he might, though, he couldn't fall asleep. He remained wide awake for several more hours, staring blankly into the dying fire and wondering if Draco was suffering on levels that he, Harry, couldn't even begin to fathom…

A/N: The "I hate my life / I hate your life, too" line is from one of my favourite movies, Boys Don't Cry.


	18. A Choice

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait. This month has been ridiculously busy, so I haven't had the time to write new chapters. Luckily, winter break is starting in a week, so I'll have more free time then. Thanks for beta'ing, Vana!_  
_

_I can't sleep now, no, not like I used to  
I can't breathe in and out like I need to  
It's breaking ice, now, to make any movement  
What's your vice? You know that mine's the illusion_  
- OneRepublic, "Goodbye Apathy"

**Chapter 17:** A Choice

Draco was reluctantly woken up by the pounding in his head the next morning. He blinked several times, the bright sunlight streaming through cracks in the walls almost painful on his eyes, and shifted, gingerly touching his throbbing temples.

_At least it's not as bad as they say it is_, he thought ruefully. He had heard hangovers likened to being trampled by a herd of stampeding Hippogriffs and then force-fed the orange end of a Puking Pastille, but this was more like a particularly vengeful headache.

Carefully, he hoisted himself into a half-sitting position. This action proved to have its repercussions; Draco barely had time to take in his surroundings before a wave of nausea rolled over him, forcing him to clap a hand over his mouth and grit his teeth.

"All right there, Malfoy?" said a vaguely amused voice.

With great difficulty, Draco swallowed and removed his hand. "Potter," he greeted tersely, too concentrated on the task of not throwing up to look up. The throbbing in his head grew more insistent, stubbornly preventing his mind from wandering back to the night before, the memories of which were currently frustratingly vague.

"Here" – footsteps thundered across the wooden floor, and Draco winced – "take this." The footsteps stopped near Draco, and a small bottle was thrust into Draco's face. Draco took it.

"What is it?" he half groaned, not wanting to lift his eyelids again and face the glaring sunlight.

"The bloke at the store said it'd help in the morning," said Harry's voice, now sounding concerned. "You seemed pretty out of it, but you didn't drink that much, so I expect it'll work well enough."

Draco didn't even protest Harry's jab at his alcohol tolerance. Bidding a silent farewell to his father's policy of never accepting unknown drinks from others, he uncapped the bottle Harry had given him and downed the bitter-tasting liquid in one gulp.

Almost instantly, the pounding in his head subsided. Heaving a sigh of relief, Draco opened his eyes, set the bottle aside, and sat up straight.

"What time is it?" he rasped, rubbing his forehead and looking around.

Harry had returned to his seat and was now carefully avoiding Draco's gaze. "Nearly ten," he said, his eyes fixed on a point just above Draco's left ear.

"Nearly ten?" Draco repeated, frowning. "Didn't you say you wanted to leave early?"

Harry now looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Yeah, but I figured I'd let you… sleep in a bit," he said, his eyes flicking nervously from side to side.

Confused, Draco slumped back against the back of the sofa and scoured his mind for details from the previous night. They trickled slowly into the forefront of his mind, like water through a pinprick-sized hole in a dam, until at long last a good enough of a picture had formed for Draco to glean the general idea of what had happened to make Harry behave so strangely.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin!" he exclaimed, jolting upright. "We didn't…?"

"You're the one who... you know," said Harry, shrugging helplessly. He was blushing again, and Draco swallowed hard, willing his body not to react as he bent forward and hid his own flushed face beneath his fringe.

"Potter, why didn't you stop me?" he demanded hoarsely. "I didn't – I shouldn't –"

"Forget it," said Harry quickly, as though determined to put an end to this awkward subject, "it wasn't – I mean, I have no problem with – and I'm not going to – let's start packing up, shall we?"

He ended his stammering on a thoroughly flustered note, leapt to his feet, and began tidying the room they had spent the night in with the help of his wand. Draco noticed that when he reached the copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ that he had given to Draco, he paused and picked it up himself.

"Here," said Harry, thrusting the book at Draco without meeting his eyes.

Draco took the gift, too embarrassed to think of anything to say. The moment he was sure that Harry's back was turned, he wrapped it carefully in his blanket.

As he watched Harry vanish the decorations from the Christmas tree, Draco sat and thought about what he had accidentally let slip to Harry the night before. Was it true, what he'd said? His father had told him many times that people, when inebriated, confessed all sorts of truths that they usually had the sense to keep to themselves. That was why, according to Lucius, drinking too much in public was never prudent. But surely Draco would have realised if he was falling in love, especially with Harry; after all, it wasn't as though love and hate were two emotions that were easily confused.

_Calm down and think, Malfoy_, Draco silently scolded himself. _How could this have happened?_

Taking a mental step backwards, Draco recalled Harry sitting at his bedside in the middle of the night, calling desperately to him, his voice thick with worry for someone he had hated for six years of his life; Harry's anger on his behalf when McGonagall had told him it was impossible for him to see his mother; Harry's arms around him in an attempt to ward off the Dementors' influence, just before they Disapparated away from Azkaban; and it occurred to him that maybe he just hadn't known enough to recognise the symptoms until now.

Then, with a sharp intake of breath, Draco remembered all the moments they had spent together that had almost made him forget that his days were limited; all the nights he had stayed up wondering if Harry would remember him when he was gone; all the casual touches and glances and smiles that had sent his heart into overdrive and his cold retorts fading away into oblivion; and he _knew_ that he just hadn't known enough to recognise the symptoms until now.

The realisation hit him with the force of a Stunning Spell straight to the chest. He had stupidly gone and fallen for the one person he couldn't afford to.

---

It was with a heavy heart that Harry led the way through the underground tunnel that connected the Shrieking Shack to the Hogwarts grounds. Along the way, he tried to cheer himself up by thinking about how he would finally get to see Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in a matter of hours. But it didn't work – with every step he took, his mind flew back to the night before, and he was once again confronted with a number of unpleasant thoughts that he wasn't quite ready to face.

When they finally emerged onto the snow-frosted grounds, Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was so happy about leaving behind the site of last night's events that even the harsh, bitterly cold winds seemed lighter than usual. He scooped up a handful of loose snow as he wriggled out of the crevice in the roots, scrambled to his feet, and tossed the snow into the air, watching it glitter in the morning sunshine as it drifted back down to earth.

When all the snow had settled back into the blanket covering the ground, Harry spun around to face Draco. He was watching Harry, his grey eyes glinting in the sunlight. There was something strange about the look in them – it was more guarded that usual, but that wasn't what was putting Harry off. After a few seconds, he realised what it was: the unnerving fear he had seen when their gazes locked at Gringotts was back.

For a moment, Harry thought to ask Draco what was wrong, but then he remembered what Draco had said the night before about Ginny, and his resolve hardened. "Let's go before someone sees us out here," he said, fighting to keep his tone neutral.

Harry made to turn back towards the castle, but Draco caught his arm, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Don't go," he said.

Sucking in a deep breath, Harry wrenched his arm away. "I have to."

"Then break up with her," Draco urged, his gaze intensifying tenfold; Harry found himself quite unable to look away. "I'm giving you a choice, Potter."

Harry stiffened in surprise. He had been expecting Draco to say a lot of things, but that certainly had not been one of them. This was proof, then, that Draco had actually meant what he'd said and done in the Shrieking Shack the night before.

This knowledge alone made Harry hesitate. It would have been so simple, he knew, to simply say no and shake off Draco's arm. But he didn't. He remained silent, afraid to open his mouth for fear of the answer that would come out.

"A choice," Draco repeated, before letting go of Harry's arm.

Harry swallowed, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "I'll see what happens over the rest of break."

Draco appraised Harry, his eyes narrow and guarded once more. Then he gave a short nod and set off towards the castle, leaving Harry to wonder, as he so often seemed to do when it came to Draco, whether he had royally screwed things up again by speaking without thinking first.

---

Draco didn't accompany Harry up to McGonagall's office. They said good-bye at the foot of the main stairs, eyes averted (for Draco had not shared the news of his recent epiphany concerning his feelings towards Harry) and a good few feet of space between them. Draco did, however, watch Harry until he had disappeared from sight, hoping the other boy would remember their earlier conversation on the grounds.

As Draco began heading up to the library, the copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ Harry had given him clutched tightly in his hands and the library's copy in his bookbag, it struck him just how uncomfortably empty he now felt. It was as though coming to terms with the fact that he was quite irrationally in love with Harry had amplified the hole Harry's absence usually left behind – a hole Draco had not even noticed until now – and made it ten times worse than before.

_Love_, thought Draco grimly, _is a bitch_.

"Oi, Malfoy!"

Draco automatically turned towards the sound of his name. In the split second that followed, two things happened simultaneously: his heart leapt into his throat, and his left hand plunged down into the pocket of his robes for his wand – only to find that it wasn't there. He had left his wand in the Slytherin common room and had not thought to go back to get it when he returned earlier.

Draco's heart immediately changed its course of direction and sank to the floor.

"What's that? No wand? Dear, dear… and look, Potter's not around to defend you, either…"

The group of Slytherins closed in around Draco, identical leers on their faces. Pansy hung back, looking uncertain; she refused to meet Draco's eyes when he sought hers.

Panicking now, Draco frantically looked around for a friendly face, but found none. Even the non-Slytherin students passing by on their way to lunch either looked away pointedly or ignored the scene altogether.

Draco nearly laughed at the irony of it all: the houses had finally united, but under circumstances that once would have prompted discord. Then he reminded himself that laughing was the last thing he should be doing when he was about to meet his demise at the hands of a group of scowling schoolchildren, but the irony of _that_ only served to further increase his detached amusement at the whole thing.

_What the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?!_ a voice in the back of Draco's mind suddenly shrieked, effectively snapping Draco out of his musings. _Run, you great moron!_

Draco wasted no more time. Drawing a deep breath, he did just that.

---

"Potter," McGonagall greeted, as Harry entered her office. "The Floo powder is on the mantelpiece. Try not to spill too much on the rug as you leave."

"No, Professor," said Harry. He glanced nervously at her, wondering if she knew that he and Draco had spent the last twenty-four hours breaking a handful of school rules, not to mention a fair few wizarding laws, but McGonagall had already turned back to the letter she was reading and seemed to have nothing else to say to Harry. Dumbledore's portrait, however, was scrutinising Harry from behind his golden frame with a rather interested twinkle in his eye. Harry blushed and looked away, positive that, portrait or not, Dumbledore was using Legilimency to read his mind.

Having no other reason to dawdle, Harry stepped up to the handsome fireplace and took a handful of Floo powder from a carved marble container. Just before he threw it into the hearth, however, he stopped short, suddenly aware of a tingle of unease at the base of his spine.

"Is something wrong, Potter?" asked McGonagall, looking up from her letter with raised eyebrows.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly, shaking off the strange sensation. He hurriedly tossed the glittering powder in his hands into the fireplace; emerald green flames instantly burst into life on the grate.

Despite his reassurances, as Harry stepped into the pleasantly warm fire, another twinge of apprehension drove him to wonder briefly if it was a good idea after all to leave Draco on his own. Harry couldn't rid himself of the faint feeling that something was wrong, and that things would only get worse if he left.

_No_, Harry told himself firmly; _your life doesn't revolve around him. It's about time you stopped sacrificing your own happiness for his, Harry._

Nevertheless, as he shouted out the name of the Order's current headquarters – Highcrest Hall – and watched McGonagall's office spin out of sight, Harry couldn't help thinking that maybe pursuing his own happiness wasn't the entire reason why he was so determined to go back to his friends.

---

It seemed to take longer than usual for Harry's target fireplace to come flying into view. When Harry finally stepped out in a whirl of ashes, he barely had half a second to take in his bearings before Hermione and Ron came running towards him from a doorway on the opposite side of the room he had arrived in.

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, sweeping him into a tight, bone-crushing embrace. "We were expecting you to come earlier, what happened?"

"Let him breathe, Hermione," said Ron's exasperated voice, and Harry was instantly reminded of his first visit to Grimmauld Place, back during the summer before his fifth year.

"It's all right, mate," said Harry, once Hermione had released him. He grinned at Ron, but Ron merely regarded him with an odd, almost stony, expression. Blinking, Harry asked, "Where's Ginny?"

"Out," said Ron flatly.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows at Ron's cold tone. "What's gotten into you?" he demanded.

"Nothing," said Ron, though his voice made it clear that "nothing" was, in fact, a very big "something".

"Ron," said Hermione warningly. Harry was once again reminded of that day two summers ago, and how he had felt when he found out that Ron and Hermione had been keeping secrets from him.

Holding up a hand, Harry said calmly, "No, Hermione, let's hear him out." He raised an eyebrow at Ron. "Well?"

The tips of Ron's ears were rapidly turning red, a sure sign that he was trying to contain an angry outburst. Harry could tell that he was torn between giving Harry a piece of his mind and sticking to the code of conduct he and Hermione had been following whenever they were around Harry for the past few months.

Annoyed now, Harry said loudly, "Spit it out, Ron, and don't patronise me. I've had enough of being treated like a patient on death row by you, thanks."

This seemed to do it for Ron. "MALFOY!" he snarled, stepping forward and jabbing Harry in the chest. Hermione let out a terrified squeak. "You – and Malfoy – you were the one who – at the trial –"

With a sinking feeling, Harry understood what Ron was trying to say. Someone had finally convinced him that Harry had, in fact, been the one who acquitted Draco.

"– and then you didn't even come back for bloody Christmas, even though you said you'd be here –"

Harry shot Hermione a pleading look, but she shook her head and wrung her hands helplessly, indicating that she hadn't told Ron. Gritting his teeth, Harry braced himself for the rest of Ron's tirade.

"– that I found that letter you sent Hermione, isn't it, because otherwise I'd still be in the dark right now, wouldn't I?"

Hermione's mouth fell open. Drawing herself up, she spluttered, "Ron, you – you went through my things?"

"I BLOODY WELL DID!" Ron bellowed. He looked quite deranged. "Were you two planning to keep this little secret of yours from me forever? Did you think you could keep making excuses to cover up Harry's little escapades?"

Harry glanced briefly at Hermione, who now looked as furious with Ron as Ron was with Harry, and took a deep, steadying breath. "Ron, he –"

"I SENT HIM TO AZKABAN! DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW HARD – HOW LONG WE TRIED –"

"I _know_, can you just –"

"HE – KILLED – MY – PARENTS!"

And then, before Harry could do anything to defend himself, Ron lurched forward, seized the front of his robes, and punched him squarely in the jaw.

Harry staggered backwards, letting loose a string of profanities that nearly drowned out Hermione's shriek. Eyes watering with pain and fists clenched at his sides, he spun on his heel, ready to give Ron a piece of his mind, when a startled voice stopped him.

"Harry?"

Surprised, Harry froze in the act of pushing Hermione aside to get at Ron and turned to look at the person who had said his name.

Nymphadora Tonks was standing in the doorway, one hand on her stomach and the other on the doorframe. She looked utterly bewildered by the scene before her.

"T-Tonks?" Harry stammered, his mind going temporarily blank at the sight of her. It had been so long since he last saw her that he had almost forgotten what she looked like.

"That's me," she said. "What's going on here?"

"Just a friendly argument," said Hermione weakly, relaxing her hold on the front of Ron's jumper.

Tonks' eyebrows flew up into her bubblegum-coloured hair. "'Friendly'?" she repeated, her gaze travelling from Harry, who was sporting a bruised jaw, to Ron, whose chest was still heaving. The corners of her lips twitched. "Well, I hate to break it up, boys, but could one of you come down to the kitchen and help me with lunch? Good to see you, by the way, Harry."

"You too," said Harry distractedly. Now that he had gotten over the initial shock of seeing Tonks, the pain in his jaw came rushing back, along with his anger at Ron. Harry no longer felt the slightest bit guilty for not telling his friend the truth earlier. Besides, it wasn't as if what he had done even mattered anymore; Draco had less than six months to live before what Harry had delayed would finally be finished.

This thought brought about another burst of anger, and Harry suddenly found that he could no longer stand to be in the same room as two his best friends, not when they had played such a large part in ensuring that a death sentence was hung over Draco's head. He knew that he was being irrational, that Ron and Hermione had had every reason to pursue and capture Draco at the time, but that didn't stop him from setting his jaw and striding past them without another word. As he followed Tonks out of the room, he heard Hermione hiss, "How _dare_ you go through my belongings, Ron?" and smiled darkly to himself, knowing that Ron would at least get the verbal part of the beating he deserved.

"What happened?" asked Tonks inquisitively, as she led Harry down the set of dusty steps that joined the kitchen and the main floor.

"What d'you mean?" said Harry unconvincingly. He sat down at the table, watching as Tonks drew her wand and pointed it at the pantry. The door flew open with a bang and two mouldy-looking potatoes zoomed out, ricocheting off the far wall and just barely missing Harry's head.

"Sorry," said Tonks, wincing. She Vanished the potatoes with a wave of her wand. Brightly, she added, "I'm absolute pants at this kind of stuff."

Harry, who had toppled off his chair in his hurry to duck the flying potatoes, hauled himself back to his feet. "I noticed," he grumbled.

"I've been trying to learn, you know, since Molly's not around to cook for everyone anymore, and I figure I might as well make myself useful while I'm under house arrest..."

Tonks trailed off, looking flustered, and it was then that Harry noticed that she still had a hand on her abdomen.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, gesturing at her stomach.

Tonks blinked. "Wrong? No, not at all! Remus didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" said Harry warily.

"I'm pregnant!"

Harry gaped at Tonks. "P-pregnant?" he repeated dumbly, all thoughts of his fight with Ron fleeing his mind.

Tonks nodded, beaming at Harry. "We just found out a week ago."

"But," Harry protested, still grappling with the idea of Tonks being pregnant, "you and Remus aren't even married yet."

Laughing, Tonks replied, "We've already set a date for the wedding. Remus wants it to be a small affair; he doesn't want to draw any attention."

"Oh," said Harry lamely. "Well... congratulations!"

Tonks beamed at Harry again. "Thanks, Harry. But don't try to distract me," she added, adopting what she clearly thought was a stern expression, though it looked more like a funny grimace to Harry. "What exactly was going on back there? Why'd Ron punch you?"

"It's no big deal," said Harry uneasily. He wasn't sure if he was ready to talk about Draco with Tonks; after all, she was an Auror and would probably side with Ron.

"I heard him yelling something about my dear cousin Draco," she persisted, as she began taking out pots and pans and setting them on the counter. "Did something happen to him?"

Harry did a double take. He had forgotten that Tonks and Draco were related. "Well... no, not really," he answered bracingly.

With a heavy sigh, he looked up into Tonks' curious face. Before he knew it, he was pouring out the story of his newfound friendship with Draco – leaving out, of course, the details of what had happened at the Shrieking Shack.

"...and then McGonagall told us on Christmas Eve that the only way he'd ever be able to go was if we went the next day, so you see, I _had_ to go with him."

Harry gazed at Tonks imploringly, silently begging her to see from his perspective. She merely knitted her eyebrows together and gave a jerk of her chin to indicate that Harry should continue. He shook his head.

"That's it," he said.

"So Ron's angry because he thinks you've chosen his parents' murderer over him?"

"Malfoy didn't –"

Tonks shook her head. "No," she said, cutting Harry's protest off, "I'm just trying to think like Ron right now."

"That's comforting," Harry muttered.

Waving Harry's retort aside, Tonks said, "Well, I'm no expert when it comes to this kind of stuff, but I think part of the reason why Ron's so livid is that he's jealous. It sounds like you've been spending a lot of time with my cousin, more time than you've been spending with Ron and Hermione and maybe even Ginny – she told me the other day that she rarely speaks to you anymore."

Anger at being talked about behind his back, followed by indignation at being accused of ignoring his friends, rose inside of Harry. "That's not true!" he argued. "It's just – I can't leave Malfoy alone! His housemates are out for his blood, you don't know what they're like... They'll want revenge for Nott's expulsion. I shouldn't have left him alone with them..."

Harry trailed off there, too distressed to explain himself more coherently. Tonks shot him a pitying look.

"Harry, have you got any idea how pathetic you sound right now?" she said kindly. "Draco is a big boy. He doesn't need you to baby him; he can take care of himself. And since when was it ex-Death Eaters first for you?"

"It's not," he said, flustered. "I just feel responsible for what happens to him. I mean, it's my fault that he's in this situation, isn't it? I should have thought about what _he_ would want before I tipped the vote."

Tonks laughed. "Sometimes you're too gallant for your own good, Harry."

Blushing, Harry shrugged. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Nothing to apologise for," said Tonks brightly. She turned her attention back to the pot she had placed on the stove and frowned at it. "Shame we don't have a house-elf here..."

"I could call Kreacher over," Harry suggested, relieved that Tonks had left off her teasing.

"Don't bother, he loathes me. I suppose we'll just have to wait for Fleur to come back from work." She sighed, looking sullen. "I reckon I know now how Sirius felt, being stuck at home all the time."

"Where's Ginny?" Harry asked in an attempt to distract Tonks, who had abandoned her feeble attempts to whip up lunch and seated herself across the table from Harry, from moping over her current predicament.

"Oh, she went to look around the neighbourhood," said Tonks. "Something about wanting to have a shufti at the Muggle gadgets they sell around here."

"She's out alone on the streets?" Harry asked sharply.

Tonks smiled knowingly at Harry's tone. "Relax, Harry. She's not going to be attacked by a Death Eater on the run in Muggle London."

Sheepishly, Harry said, "Sorry, I'm just paranoid after –"

"After you nearly lost her," Tonks finished for him, nodding wisely. "I know."

They sat in silence, remembering the night Harry had destroyed the locket and how its final act had been torturing Harry to the brink of madness by possessing Ginny. At least, that was what Harry was remembering – Tonks, like everyone else, including Ginny, was oblivious to the full story. She thought that Voldemort had merely placed Ginny under the Imperius curse that night. To this day, Ron and Hermione remained the only ones who knew that it had actually been a piece of Voldemort's soul that had sent accusations and lies spilling out of Ginny's mouth.

After a few moments of reflection, Tonks cleared her throat and stood back up. "Anyway, I'm going to go get some paperwork done." She scowled at the clock on the opposite wall, as if it were its fault that she was at home doing paperwork instead of out hunting Dark wizards. "Ginny should be back any minute now – oh, and sorry about lunch, Harry!"

Still looking glum, she stood up and left. Now alone in the kitchen, Harry put his head in his hands and exhaled loudly.

Was what Tonks had said true? Was he really putting Draco's needs above his friendships with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny? Now that he thought about it, he _hadn't_ spent much time with them lately... And not spending Christmas with them and the rest of the Order – his second family – in favour of going to Azkaban with Draco Malfoy seemed stupid, even absurd, from this side of the holiday...

_But what about what Ron said?_ argued a small voice in his head. _He didn't have any right to accuse Malfoy of those things! He wasn't even there that night, he didn't see Malfoy try to cover for you!_

"Exactly," Harry reminded the voice dully. "He doesn't know what happened, so he had every right to say what he said."

Sighing, Harry scratched morosely at a jagged burn on the scrubbed wood surface of the table. Though he still didn't like Ron's attitude towards Draco – and this alarmed him, since Ron's hatred of Draco had never bothered him before, but he drove it out of his mind, willing himself not to think about his new feelings towards Draco in a time like this – he could no longer deny that he needed to rethink his priorities.

Harry knew what it was like to be without Ron's friendship, and he didn't want to have to go through that again. Hermione, too, deserved better, especially considering everything Harry had put her and Ron through during the war. And Ginny – he would talk to her and try his best to mend their relationship. They had been through too much together to just let it all fall apart over Harry's conflicted feelings about a boy he had despised until two months ago. "After you nearly lost her" – Tonks' earlier words surfaced in Harry's mind, cementing his determination to rekindle the flame he had not seen dying until now.

So what if Harry had promised Draco that he wouldn't dismiss what Draco had said without giving it some thought first? It wasn't as if there was anything _real_ between them; hadn't Draco said so himself? Besides, they could still be friends. If they just pretended to forget about everything that had happened on Christmas night, no harm would be done. And even if Draco _was_ in love with him – though it was doubtful, Harry reminded himself, since Draco had denied it – it probably wasn't anything serious. The other boy had most likely just deluded himself into thinking he had fallen for Harry in his desperation to get through his list.

A small, traitorous part of Harry's subconscious mind, however, scoffed at Harry's attempts to convince himself that he was doing the right thing by going back to Ginny without giving Draco a chance. It pointed out that the real reason why he had made the choice he'd made was that he was afraid of what would happen if he didn't.

_And why shouldn't I be afraid?_ Harry silently demanded, hating the part of himself that would not blind itself to his cowardly decision. The backlash entailed by accepting whatever it was Draco was offering made Harry uneasy. Merlin knew he had never been one to live according to what others deemed normal, but this was different. This wasn't anything like rebelling against the Ministry, because that had been about believing in the truth, and Harry had known then that eventually he would be proven right. This time, Harry had no idea what he was facing, and it made him nervous. For once, he was balking at the thought of taking a risk.

Ignoring the heavy feeling of guilt in his gut, Harry set off to apologise to his friends.


	19. A New Year

**A/N:** Thanks to my gorgeous beta, Vana, for taking time out of her schedule to beta for me! Happy New Year, all!_  
_

_Dancing when the stars go blue  
Dancing when the evening fell  
Dancing in your wooden shoes  
In a wedding gown  
Dancing out on 7th street  
Dancing through the underground  
Dancing with the marionette  
Are you happy now?_

- Tim McGraw, "When the Stars Go Blue"

**Chapter 18:** A New Year

Draco spent the remainder of the break moping over Harry's absence and then hating himself for being reduced to a pathetic, lovesick girl. Occasionally he took a break to add more ingredients to the cauldron of Felix Felicis still bubbling in the dungeons, but otherwise, his burning desire to accomplish the goals on his list had been all but extinguished. It just didn't feel right anymore to carry on without Harry there. Instead, Draco whiled away most of the days by sitting in what was now widely acknowledged as his corner of the library (it was the only place where the other Slytherins, who were still incensed by his narrow escape into the library the day Harry had left, couldn't reach him without getting in trouble), staring unseeingly at whatever page _Hogwarts: A History_ happened to be opened to. He would usually stay there for hours on end, running a finger absently over the already softening leather cover as an internal battle raged on in his head.

The less rational half of Draco's mind was urging him to go ahead, let himself fall for Harry; it wasn't as if he had anything to lose. This was true – already four of his nine allotted months had slipped out of his grasp; he didn't have enough time to be choosy if he wanted to finish his list. But, as always, his logical side fought back:

_Falling in love with Harry Potter! Are you mental? You're the one who tried so hard to avoid his mere _friendship_, and now you're saying you want to go and start a _relationship _with him? Ha!_

_Well, that's the point, isn't it? You couldn't avoid his friendship, and now you're stuck with him. You haven't got much to lose, have you? Now's not exactly the time to be fussy about something like love..._

_Things are only going to get worse if you give yourself to him! So you didn't manage to shake him off before; this is different. This is_falling in love_ with him, it's much more serious! What will the Slytherins think? Not to mention the rest of the school!_

_Who gives a damn what they think? Like I said, you don't have anything to lose. Let yourself fall for him, and then get right back up. You can cross one more thing off your list, no harm done._

_Who says that Potter will fall in love back, hmm? He's straight, he said so himself... For the love of Merlin, _you're_ straight, we shouldn't even be having this conversation..._

_Oh, stuff it, will you? We both know that it's not so much the fact that you're gay –_

_Rubbish! What about Pansy?_

– _that bothers you. And give it up, we both know that Pansy meant nothing to you. Your sexuality isn't the problem here; no one cares about that. It's the fact that he's Harry Potter, isn't it? You said it yourself: This whole thing terrifies you. But it's too late, mate... you've already kissed him and liked it. There's no turning back now._

Sometimes this mental war escalated to the point where it actually gave Draco a physical headache. One such incident occurred on the afternoon of New Year's Eve. Draco was sitting in his usual corner of the library, for once attempting to not read _Hogwarts: A History_, but start an essay Slughorn had assigned before the holidays on the ethics of, ironically, love potions, when the voices – voices? Since when had Draco started acknowledging himself as a schizophrenic? – started up again.

"Shut up!" Draco ground out, putting an end to the argument before it could spiral beyond his control. A pair of passing first year girls shot him scandalised looks that quickly turned to fearful ones when they recognised him. They scuttled away, leaving Draco to bare his teeth unpleasantly at their scrawny backs.

Leaning back on the hind legs of his chair, Draco rubbed his temples and tried to think of something other than Harry. He focused on the Felix Felicis he was brewing, but this didn't help his foul mood much: The now-black substance was nearing the point where the Mist Lily would need to be added to proceed any further, and Draco still hadn't found it. Though he still had a little over five weeks to locate the flower before the potion became impotent, he doubted that even five years would have helped, considering he didn't dare wander any further into the Forbidden Forest than he already had. Perhaps Harry would help when he came back from spending the holidays with... but no, Draco was thinking about Harry again, and that wouldn't do.

Draco got to his feet, gathered his things, and stuffed them all into his book bag, which he slung carelessly over one shoulder. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew a walk would help clear his head a little, so he left the library and began wandering down the thankfully empty fourth floor corridor.

As Draco walked, it occurred to him that he was about to spend his very first New Year's Eve apart from his parents – his first ever New Year's Eve alone, even. These thoughts made a lump rise in his throat, but he swallowed and tried not to dwell on them, because they brought to mind even worse thoughts about his poor mother, sitting all alone in her cold, silent Azkaban cell.

What did one do in a situation like his? Draco wondered. He didn't know how to celebrate the New Year without fancy champagne and well wishes from respected Ministry officials. Sighing, he decided that, for the moment, he would return to the Slytherin common room (surreptitiously, of course; his house mates had stopped trying to hex him after being caught cornering him in an upstairs hallway by Flitwick, but that didn't make the common room any safer) and try to get some rest. Then, if he felt up to it, he would try to think of ways to commemorate the next milestone on the road to his execution – the real celebration, he thought dryly.

Draco woke up a few minutes before midnight, the sounds of the festivities being held in the common room pounding in his ears. It took a moment for him to blink away the exhaustion still clouding his brain and glance down at his watch to check the time. When he did, he bolted upright and frantically looked around his room for a window, wanting to witness the split second when the war-ravaged outside world shifted into a promising new era, desperate to see the instant when the last year of his life burst into life.

But there were no windows in the dungeon, and so, as the earth wearily completed another cycle of rotation, Draco never saw the sole star that shone stubbornly straight overhead him in the cloudy night sky. Instead, while the rest of the world welcomed the New Year, Draco fell back onto his bed with a sigh, pulled the covers over his head, and wondered longingly whether Harry was thinking of him.

---

"Half an hour now!"

Harry grinned and lifted his champagne glass in acknowledgment of these words. It was New Year's Eve, and he was sitting in the cosy drawing room of Highcrest Hall, celebrating with a roomful of friends and Order members alike. Ginny was curled up at his side, reading a bookmarked page in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_, and Ron and Hermione were sitting across the coffee table from them, arguing over the outcome of a recent Death Eater trial. Remus, Tonks, Bill, Fleur, George, Percy, and Kingsley were all present as well, most of them looking relaxed for the first time Harry could remember.

"How's the reading going?" Harry asked Ginny, as he idly watched George tease Percy about something on the other side of the room. The surviving half of the famous Weasley duo looked drawn and older than usual – no doubt due to the loss of his twin – but otherwise appeared to be in a good mood, as did his brother.

Ginny glanced up and smiled at Harry. "As well as it can go with reading material drier than Tonks' mashed potatoes," she said, loudly enough for Tonks, who was standing behind them and listening to Bill's report on the current movement of pro-werewolf laws through the Ministry, to hear.

Tonks looked around at the sound of her name. "You watch whose cooking you're badmouthing, young lady!" she said huffily, when she noticed Ginny. Bill, who had paused to take breath, chuckled at his sister's cheek. Tonks spared a glare for him before turning back to Ginny and adding, "If you carry on with your insults, you won't be fed for the rest of break!"

"That's a relief," Ginny teased. She winked at Harry, who bit back a laugh.

Harry had approached Ginny after she returned to headquarters on Friday and brought up the matter of their faltering relationship. She had denied that there was anything wrong at first, but after Harry refused to stop pressing the issue, she had given in and admitted that yes, she had also noticed the rift between them growing.

Harry had then apologised for being an incompetent boyfriend, and they had spent the rest of the day at a little Muggle flea market nearby, taking advantage of all the Boxing Day sales. Harry had purchased a golden locket for Ginny – a gift whose significance only he understood – and late Christmas presents for everyone else.

The next few days had flown by. Ron was still refusing to speak to Harry, and Hermione was too busy trying to make him come around, so Harry had spent all his time with Ginny, exploring the large, handsome manor, walking around the neighbourhood, or otherwise sitting by the fireplace and talking about school, the Order, their futures, anything but the war. Harry had found himself falling in love with her all over again – with her passion, her spirit, her determination... in short, he quickly realised, all the attributes that Draco possessed as well. At the same time, though, Ginny's best qualities also highlighted the biggest difference between her and Draco: While Ginny's strength of mind was warm and solid, Draco's was cold and unyielding.

Meanwhile, Harry had resumed his former irregular pattern of waking up most mornings in a cold sweat, sure that he could still hear the rattling of a Dementor's breath. He didn't know what had prompted the return of his nightmares, though he suspected that part of the explanation lay in Draco's absence. However, Harry refused to believe that _Draco_ of all people had been responsible for ridding him of his nightmares, so he had forced himself to enjoy Ginny's company and not think about his night terrors any more than he had to.

The evening before, however, Harry had been confronted with a dilemma: Ginny had all but told him that she wanted to make love again, this time while Harry was not intoxicated. This had put Harry in a bit of a sticky situation, because as much as he had wanted to prove to Ginny that their romance was back to the way it had once been, he had been reluctant to tumble into bed with her. This was partly because he hadn't been ready to take their relationship to the next level. To put it simply, snogging was one thing; shagging, quite another. Mostly, though, Harry had felt that not having sex with Ginny was the most he could still give Draco, having made the choice he'd made.

Ginny had seemed disappointed at first when Harry gently turned her down, but then she had shrugged and cracked a joke about Harry being too pure for her, which Harry had recognised as her brave attempt to make sure things didn't become too awkward between them. Harry had been so grateful that he had grabbed her and snogged her thoroughly, all the while trying not to think about how different Ginny's kisses felt and tasted from Draco's.

"Harry?"

Lupin's voice pulled Harry out of his musings. He looked around and was startled to see Lupin leaning on the back of the sofa, smiling at him.

"Hey, Remus," said Harry, pulling away from Ginny so that he could face his professor. "Where'd Tonks go?"

"She's upstairs, getting some rest." At Harry's puzzled look, Lupin explained, "She gets tired a lot these days, with the baby on the way."

Raising his eyebrows, Harry said, "You didn't tell me that Tonks was pregnant."

Lupin looked rightfully abashed. "I'm so sorry, Harry, I completely –"

"It's fine," said Harry, laughing. "She told me already."

"Oh, did she?" said Lupin, sounding relieved.

"Yeah. Congratulations, you must be really happy."

"Yes, of course." Lupin's smile, however, seemed forced.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry curiously.

Lupin sighed, now looking decidedly miserable. "I don't want you to think any lesser of me, Harry. It's just... I'm worried for Tonks and for the child. I was irresponsible; I didn't think about the consequences. What if the baby is like me?"

"It won't be," said Harry firmly, though he really had no idea whether the child would turn out to be a werewolf or not. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Remus."

Lupin nodded, though he didn't look very reassured.

More to wipe the gloomy expression off of Lupin's prematurely lined face than anything else, Harry said, "Actually, I had a question to ask you. Could we go somewhere a little more... er, private?"

Lupin looked surprised. "How about the kitchen?"

"Yeah, all right." Leaning over, Harry whispered into Ginny's ear, "Be right back."

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on her textbook. "It's nearly midnight, so don't take too long, okay?"

Harry left the crowded room with Lupin, pausing to say hi to Kingsley, who had been appointed temporary Minister. The tall, broad-shouldered man greeted Harry warmly.

"Long time no see, Harry," he said in his slow, deep voice.

"And you, Kingsley," said Harry, grinning up at Kingsley. "I'm surprised you managed to get away from the office for once."

Kingsley chuckled. "Being Minister does have its perks."

"Speaking of, what have you been up to since I last saw you?"

"Mostly trying to amend relations with foreign ministers. At the moment, I'm working to get the Dementors out of Azkaban."

"Really?" said Harry, relief and hope swelling up inside of him like a great balloon. "That's great!"

"Unfortunately, it will be a while before the law, if passed, will go into effect. A year, maybe two."

Harry's heart fell. So Draco wouldn't be saved after all. "Oh," he said softly.

Lupin placed a hand on his shoulder, apparently sensing his unhappiness. "You had something to ask me," he reminded Harry quietly.

"Yeah," said Harry, swallowing his disappointment. He smiled tightly at Kingsley and followed Lupin out of the room and down to the kitchen.

They sat down facing each other at the scrubbed wood table. A few seconds ticked by while Harry mentally ran through a number of ways to phrase his question. In the distance, George's voice could be heard, announcing that there were fifteen minutes left until midnight. Finally, having allowed the silence to drag on as long as it comfortably could, Harry gave in to the expectant look on Lupin's face and spoke up.

"I was wondering..." he said, trying to keep his tone casual, "do you know anything about life debts?"

Lupin looked taken aback and slightly confused. Harry thought he knew why; Lupin had probably been expecting something more personal. "That's a strange question to ask me, Harry," he said.

Harry nodded mutely as he tried to decide how much of his reason for bringing the subject up he should reveal to Lupin. It was a suspicion that had been nagging at him for a while now. He had originally intended to ask Hermione about it over break, but he was feeling less than warm towards her at the moment; she had scolded him for not telling Ron earlier, and though Harry knew she had meant well, he had not appreciated her "I told you so"s.

"Yeah, well," Harry finally said, "I was just wondering if you could…?"

Lupin chuckled. "Very well. I'm not an expert, but I'll try to explain to the best of my knowledge." He paused, taking in Harry's sudden eagerness with slightly raised eyebrows. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to know?"

"Er – no, not really. Just... everything you know, if that's all right."

Looking thoughtful, Lupin paused for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts, and then began.

"Life debts are much more complex than most people believe. They require more than just the simple act of one wizard saving another's life to be put into effect. Essentially, the core of a life debt is formed from the sense of gratitude and obligation felt by the wizard whose life is saved towards the one who did the saving."

Harry chewed on his bottom lip as he turned this knowledge over in his mind. "But aren't gratitude and obligation and feelings like that relative?" he asked slowly.

"Very good," said Lupin, sounding unnervingly like he did when he congratulated Hermione for answering a question correctly in class. "They are. Which is why, when a wizard feels nothing towards the one who saved his life, a life debt is not set. You remember, of course, the situation involving Barty Crouch and his son?"

Harry nodded slowly, understanding dawning upon him as he recalled how Barty Crouch had helped his son escape from prison. "Crouch saved his son's life, but his son killed him later, right?"

"Precisely. Crouch Jr felt no sense of debt to his father, so he was able to murder him without second thought. Thus, the life debt that should have prevented Crouch Jr from killing Crouch Sr was not set in place."

Harry felt the familiar leaping sensation in his stomach that indicated that he was on the right path to solving a puzzle. "Is this… common knowledge?" he ventured tentatively.

Lupin shook his head. "No, most people never bother researching the specifics of the ancient magic involved in invoking a life debt. Woolly nonsense that can't be proved, they call it. I believe, however, that a small section of the Life room in the Department of Mysteries is dedicated to studying life debts."

Frowning, Harry thought hard. If Lupin was right about everything, then there was no life debt between him and Draco. After all, hadn't Draco himself said that Harry had done him a disservice by delaying his punishment?

Instinct, however, told Harry that there was more to be learned about life debts. "And… say two people feel like they owe each other a life debt," he said, even more tentatively. "Would their mutual feelings cancel each other out?"

Lupin's forehead creased; he appeared to be considering Harry's question very seriously. "I don't know, Harry," he finally said. "I would venture a guess and say that in some cases, they wouldn't cancel each other out, due to what we just discussed: obligation is relative. Assuming that both persons involved were quite sure that they still owed the other their lives – a unique case, indeed, as very few people are selfless enough to not regard saving the life of someone who once saved their life as a form of repayment – I think an unusual kind of bond would be formed between the two of them. Imagine, Harry, that I saved your life. How would you feel?"

"I – er," said Harry, grappling to recover from being addressed so unexpectedly, "I suppose I'd feel like I owed you my life."

"Yes, precisely," said Lupin, nodding. "That's how life debts are formed; I'm sure you already know that. But what if I felt the same way? What if you saved my life a short while afterwards, a deed which I considered greater than my previous act of saving your life but which you thought was quite the opposite?"

Lupin paused and looked at Harry expectantly. Harry blinked, once again caught off guard. He felt rather like he used to when Dumbledore asked for his opinion on important matters.

"Er, you'd feel the same way I did, wouldn't you?" he offered, thinking this was a rather obvious answer and wondering where Lupin was trying to go with his analogy.

"Exactly! In short, we'd both still think that we owed each other our lives. I would be carrying a piece of you with me – that is, the life you felt you owed me – and vice versa. Thus, a bond would exist between us until the moment when one of us felt that our deed of saving the other one's life was repaid."

Harry stared at Lupin, trying to absorb this onslaught of information, most of which he didn't fully understand. "Would… would this bond have any effects on our lives or our feelings towards each other?" he asked, once what Lupin was saying had sunk in.

"That I don't know," Lupin admitted. He smiled wanly at Harry. "Like I said, I don't know very much about old magic. Dumbledore" – he paused, looking stricken, but recovered quickly – "Dumbledore would have known more."

"Yeah," said Harry, "I expect he would've." He traced a jagged burn on the tabletop, deep in thought, and then stood up abruptly. "Thanks for telling me all of this, Remus. You've helped me a lot." It was the truth, too, because the parts of Lupin's information that Harry did understand had partially confirmed his suspicions about his and Draco's situation.

"Sorry I couldn't tell you any more, Harry," said Lupin apologetically, as they made their way back up the stairs. "If you don't mind my asking, why the sudden curiosity about life debts? Surely you're not studying them in any of your classes?"

Harry searched his mind for a plausible excuse. "I was thinking about Wormtail and what happened to him," he lied.

Something in Lupin's eyes shuttered. "I see," he said quietly.

They re-entered the drawing room. Ginny looked up just in time to see them return; she beamed at them and motioned for them to join her on the sofa.

"Tonks is over by the window," she said to Lupin, just as George declared, "Three minutes!"

Lupin nodded his thanks and left Harry and Ginny to join his fiancé. Harry put an arm around Ginny's shoulders, pulled her close to him, and buried his face in her thick hair, pushing aside the thoughts his conversation with Lupin had sent whirling through his head for later examination.

"Our first New Year's Eve together," he murmured, and he felt, rather than heard, her laugh.

"Together as a couple, you mean," she corrected him, pulling away and turning her face up for a kiss.

Harry obliged, not caring that Ron was just a few feet away and probably glaring at them disapprovingly. As he pulled away, his mind took advantage of his lowered inhibitions and jumped to thoughts of Draco: of whether he was alone, of what he was doing to celebrate the coming of the last year of his life. He felt a pang of sadness so strong that he knew it couldn't be entirely his, and shut his eyes tightly, trying to think of Ginny.

But it was no use. Unwelcome thoughts of the boy who controlled Harry's will, even from a great distance, battled and subdued Harry's conscious attempts to lock them away, reminding Harry once again of the power of his weaknesses. His throat constricted painfully and he lifted his head, desperate not to enter the New Year wishing he was with Draco, because that somehow seemed worse than anything else he could possibly do at the moment.

As he scanned the blur of friendly faces in the room, he caught a glimpse of the night sky through the window Tonks had now deserted. It was a heavy, oppressive black. But from where Harry sat, he could just discern a sole star, glimmering faintly in the distance despite the clouds trying to smother it. For some reason, some of the sadness weighing down Harry's spirits lifted at the sight of that star.

"...TWO, ONE!"

The room suddenly erupted in cheers, jerking Harry out of his reverie. Dazed, he blinked rapidly, only vaguely aware of the hands seizing his and shaking them enthusiastically.

"Happy New Year, Harry!" several voices chorused.

Harry nodded dumbly. His eyes impulsively swept over the people crowding around him and sought out the star that had shone so obstinately earlier. As he gazed at the tiny pinprick of light in the black sky, he suddenly knew, with more certainty than he felt towards anything else in his life at the moment, that no matter what choice he ultimately made, everything would be all right.

---

The sky was grey and overcast on Saturday morning. It was Harry's first day back at school, and he, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Dean were trudging down the snow-packed path leading from Hogsmeade Station to Hogwarts, having just gotten off the Hogwarts Express along with the handful of other students that had left the castle for the holidays.

As the snow-tipped towers of the castle rose into view, Harry looked around in time to see Ron shoot him a surreptitious over-the-shoulder glance. Harry smiled mockingly in return, a gesture to which Ron responded by scowling, moving closer to Hermione, and lowering his head towards hers so as to give off the appearance that they were deep in conversation.

Harry rolled his eyes. He and Ron still hadn't made up, mostly because of Harry's refusal to apologise first. He had tried everything to make amends with Ron, including promising to do Ron's Charms homework for a month and insisting that he wouldn't kiss Ginny ever again. He had even sworn, quite truthfully, that he would let things between him and Draco go back to the way they used to be. The one thing Harry hadn't done was agree that Draco was responsible for Mr and Mrs Weasley's deaths, which was apparently the only thing Ron wanted from him. More than once Hermione had begged Harry to concede just for the sake of patching his and Ron's friendship, but each time Harry had flatly refused, saying stubbornly that he knew exactly how it felt to be wrongly accused of a crime and that he wouldn't wish it on anyone, not even – or, as his mind had silently substituted, especially – Draco Malfoy.

The meaning behind Ron's furtive glance, however, did not escape Harry. He was perfectly aware of what the other boy was thinking: Where would Harry's loyalties stand now that they were back at Hogwarts? Would his promise to end his friendship with Draco prove to be nothing but empty words?

Again, Harry rolled his eyes. He was surprised that Ron didn't have more faith in his word after six years together. Harry had made a choice and he would stick with it, just like he always did.

They arrived at Hogwarts sooner than they had predicted they would. Despite the early hour – the sun was just beginning to rise outside – the inside of the castle was bustling with activity. Someone had thoughtfully spelled the main entrance with a Drying Charm, so that Harry's snow-logged clothes returned to their original warm, dry state the moment he stepped over the stone threshold. Harry heard a sigh of relief behind him, turned around, and grinned when he saw Luna and Ginny pulling off their caps and shaking their long hair out, their cheeks rosy from the cold. Dean was right behind them.

"It's quite nice in here, isn't it?" Luna commented, as she helped Dean with the fastener on his cloak.

"Yeah, a lot more people stayed for the holidays this year. Because of... you know," Harry finished lamely, not wanting to bring up the sensitive topic of dead family members in front of his three parentless friends.

Luna was saved the trouble of responding by Hermione, who, noticing that Harry, Ginny, Luna, and Dean had lagged behind, called out, "Hurry up, you four! We can still make it to breakfast!"

The party of six pushed and squeezed their way into the Great Hall, drawn towards the delicious smell of food. At the door, they parted ways with Luna, who hurried off to join the rest of her house. Harry's gaze absently trailed after her as he seated himself next to Hermione at the Gryffindor table, then ground to an abrupt halt when it caught sight of someone far more interesting sitting at the Slytherin table behind Luna: Draco – and he was staring straight at Harry.

Even from the other side of the Great Hall, Harry could feel the intensity of Draco's gaze, and it made him blush. Steeling himself, he mouthed, _Meet me downstairs after breakfast._

Draco seemed to understand that "downstairs" meant the unused Potions room, because he nodded curtly and lowered his eyes. Upon being released from Draco's intent stare, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and set to work buttering a scone, keeping his head down so as to hide his flushed cheeks.

---

Draco stopped outside the door of the unused Potions room and stared at it, imagining Harry standing on the other side. He was probably turning his wand between his fingers, Draco mused. Harry tended to do that when he was waiting for something. Chances were that he was worrying his bottom lip, too, since he was most likely starting to feel impatient with Draco for being late. For once Draco had taken his time at the breakfast table, wanting to delay the moment of truth, whatever it might be.

At last Draco squared his shoulders and flung open the door. Harry was standing near the cauldron of Felix Felicis, a real life replica of the picture Draco's imagination had weaved. At the sight of him, Draco's heart rate instantly doubled. Stuffing his suddenly-shaking hands in the pockets of his trousers, Draco strode into the room.

Harry, who had looked up at the sound of the door being thrust open, smiled tightly at Draco over the cauldron of potion. "Malfoy," he greeted, sounding very strained.

Draco merely jerked his chin. He didn't trust himself to speak, not when every nerve in his body was screaming for him to move closer and his throat was drier than Pansy's chocolate cakes.

"Look," Harry began, his fingers stilling on his wand, "I was thinking about what you said before –"

"Wait." Before he knew it, Draco found himself on the other side of the cauldron, a few feet away from Harry, who suddenly looked extremely wary. "Before you start blithering, Potter, I just wanted to..." he swallowed, "say something."

It was too much, being this close after being apart for so long and not doing anything about it. Closing the distance between them, Draco grabbed the front of Harry's robes with one hand and caught Harry's jaw with the other. Desperation and desire clouded Draco's head, so that he wasn't even aware that he was leaning forward until he felt the firm pressure of hands on his chest and heard Harry's voice saying loudly, "Stop, Malfoy."

The direct command was as jolting as the press of an ice cube to bare skin. Instantly, Draco released Harry and stepped back. Embarrassment warmed his face as realisation of what he had just – and almost – done sank in.

"Th-there was a smudge on your g-glasses," Draco stammered.

Harry sighed. "I'm sure," he muttered irritably. He removed his glasses, wiped them absently with a handful of his robes, and put them back on. "There. Can I say what I want to say now?"

Draco licked his lips nervously. "Yeah," he said, hoping he didn't sound as terrified as he felt.

Draco could have sworn that Harry's gaze lingered on his lips for a split second longer than necessary, but before he could dwell on it, Harry said in one rush of breath, "Thisisntgoingtowork."

"Excuse me?"

"I choose Ginny!" The three words echoed in the small dungeon, the potion behind Draco emitted a loud hiss, and then silence fell. "You told me you were giving me a choice, and I choose her," Harry elaborated in a smaller, though no less decided, voice.

It was one of the oddest sensations Draco had ever experienced: Though he inhaled sharply, it still felt as though all the breath in his lungs had vanished. He felt a stabbing pain somewhere in his chest region and was forced to admit it to himself: he felt _betrayed_. It was strange and foreign to him, this creature that had taken up residence inside of him and now cried with fury and pain too great to put into intelligible words. Draco had felt many things in his lifetime, but never something quite like betrayal. He'd simply never allowed himself to love or trust anyone enough to feel betrayed when they let him down. But now…

"Fuck you, Potter," he spat, shoving Harry away from him. "Fuck you for all the bullshit you said to me that I almost believed – _almost_._Fuck!_ Why am I even surprised that you turned your back on me?"

Harry's face turned an angry shade of red. He opened his mouth, but Draco continued before he could get a word in.

"So you're just going to turn around and give up?" he snarled. "Is that it? You can go out and save the fucking world, but you're too scared to save" – Draco caught himself before he said "us" – "to save _this_?"

The red drained away, leaving Harry's face stark white. Noticing this, Draco threw up his hands in exasperation. "I lied, okay, Potter?" he said loudly, the confession tumbling out his mouth before he could stop it. "I lied about how I felt, and it was so fucking obvious. I thought you _knew_."

Harry cringed and looked away sharply, as though he couldn't bear to hear the rest of Draco's indirect profession of his feelings. "She loves me, Malfoy."

Draco laughed harshly. "Your dreamy-eyed schoolgirl," he sneered.

"In ways that you can't!"

"In ways that I _won't_, Potter!" said Draco forcefully. He exhaled and shook his head. "Forget it. You'll never understand what it's like for me, not when you have the rest of your perfect life ahead of you. You don't know what it's like to have no _future_, to know that everything right now means nothing."

Harry straightened up, glaring at Draco. "See, there you go again!" he exclaimed. "You never tell me anything. How do you expect us to – to ever work something out if I don't even _know_ you?"

"If I ever expected that we'd be able to work something out, I expected too much," said Draco coldly. "Maybe I should have listened when you told me I'd be better off looking for someone else to fulfil my expectations."

These words seemed to rouse Harry's anger back into life. Draco swore he could feel the very air between them quiver as Harry stood there, seething almost tangibly. Then, through tightly clenched teeth, Harry hissed, "I never felt anything – _anything_ – for you."

The words reverberated in the air for several seconds. Then, unexpectedly, another burst of pain seared through Draco, the sheer intensity of it making his vision blur – though the traitorous tears that had welled up in his eyes probably had something to do with it, too. Hating himself for showing signs of emotion, Draco rapidly blinked them away. When he dared to meet Harry's eyes again, he was relieved to see Harry's hard expression had not softened or changed at all. It seemed that he had not noticed the effect his declaration had had on Draco, or else had chosen to ignore it.

Draco forced a cold sneer onto his face, drawing strength and comfort from the veneer of composure it gave him. He suspected that he looked madder than his late Aunt Bellatrix when she used to talk about the Dark Lord, but this did not bother him; rather, he hoped that it would remind Harry of who he was dealing with. With just a hint of mockery in his voice, Draco taunted, "Oh really? Then I suppose wanting to kiss me back was another one of your brilliant plans to keep me from escaping, was it?"

Again, Harry's face went from puce to white. Smiling triumphantly, Draco continued. "I may have been drunk, Potter, but don't think I didn't notice. What would your oh-so-virtuous girlfriend think if she knew her brave, strong, _masculine_ boyfriend almost willingly snogged another bloke?"

Harry's eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't go thinking you're so important just yet, Malfoy. Whatever I did, I did out of pity for you."

Though Draco was prepared for it this time, Harry's retort still managed to flay open another wound on his dignity. His throat tightened painfully and he jerked his head, trying to shake off the hurtful words. He hated this, hated the way Harry always managed to get under his skin in ways that no one else could. And he hated himself for letting it happen.

"Pity for _me_?" he said scornfully, his tone astoundingly controlled. "How about pity for yourself, Potter? Look at the mess you've made out of your life. A hero to all of wizardkind, and you can't even be honest to yourself. _You. Wanted. It._"

Draco braced himself, waiting for Harry to explode, but to his surprise and bafflement, Harry did the exact opposite: His face fell, his shoulders slumped, and the magic rippling in the air around him seemed to fizzle out. Just like that, he gave up.

"I can't always save everything," he said sadly, and it was almost like he was begging Draco to forgive him for his one flaw.

Rather than soften him up, Harry's words of surrender only spurred Draco on. Harry had no business being weak when he was the one responsible for the hell Draco's life had become. Advancing towards Harry, Draco said furiously, "Bullshit, Potter. You refuse to _try_."

"I've tried all my life." Harry's voice was heavier than lead. "Don't lecture me on the finer points of giving an effort. I don't need that from you, Malfoy."

"Then why am I here?" Draco cried. "If you don't need me, what the hell are we doing?"

Harry stared at Draco. "You need _me_," he said flatly. "I told you I was going to help you get through your list, and I'll keep my word."

"Oh?" Draco spat out, and his voice was like poison-laced ice, dangerous and razor-sharp. Harry flinched, and Draco felt a surge of savage pleasure. "Well, then, here you are, Potter. Why don't you take a look at the list and see what you can do for me next?"

And he reached into his pocket, plucked the list out, and threw it to the floor at Harry's feet.

A muscle in Harry's cheek twitched. He bent over and picked the worn piece of parchment up. Draco watched with narrowed eyes as he unfolded it and began reading.

A booming silence swallowed the next few seconds, and then Harry looked up and met Draco's gaze. Holding it unflinchingly, he said, his voice wavering just the slightest, "Why did you cross off twenty-two?"

"Surely you've figured that one out already," said Draco mockingly.

"I want to hear you say it." Harry held out the list between his index and middle fingers. His fingers were trembling. "Enlighten me, Malfoy."

Draco saw the contradictory subtext of Harry's words reflected in his eyes, in the way his whole body tensed when Draco reached for the list: Harry didn't want to hear it. He was afraid that Draco was telling the truth. And, somehow, that gave Draco the strength to say it.

"I'm in love with you."

---

If Draco Malfoy had told Harry Potter that he was in love with him a month ago, all hell would have broken loose. It was a mark of how drastically times had changed that, rather than hexing Draco dumb and then sending him to St. Mungo's to have his body scoured for traces of Dark magic, all Harry did was take a deep, stabilising breath and say, quite reasonably, "No, you're not."

The grey eyes widened and myriad emotions flashed through them before contempt settled in. "And how do you figure that, Potter?" Draco sneered.

"Because," Harry snapped, "love isn't something you can concoct for your own convenience. People don't fall in love because they want to cross a few words off some bloody list. Love is built on loyalty and honesty and friendship. Trust comes before love. You can't hate someone one day and then decide you love them the next." He paused to take a breath. "Love exists in the heart, not the mind."

Draco's eyes hardened. "Right. And Slytherins don't have hearts, so that means they don't get to join in on the fun, right?"

Harry shook his head. "You have a heart, Malfoy," he said flatly. "You just don't know how to use it."

Two blots of red appeared in Draco's pale cheeks. "You have no right to judge me," he hissed. Harry ignored him and strode determinedly towards the door, his arms rigid at his sides. Though Draco made no effort to stop him, he did shout, as Harry reached for the door handle, "You're a coward, Potter, and you're wrong! I'm in love –"

"No, Malfoy," Harry interrupted, stopping in his tracks and glaring at Draco over his shoulder, "_you're_ wrong. The only person you're in love with is yourself. You can go ahead and use me as a means to accomplishing the things you want to do before you get the Kiss, but _don't_ involve me in your twisted concept of love. That's where I draw the line."

He paused for a beat, then went on coolly: "I'm going to pretend this conversation never happened, and I suggest you do the same if you want to get through your list. It's up to you to decide what you want to do. That's the choice _I'm_ giving _you_."

And with that, Harry exited the dungeon, leaving Draco standing next to the smoking cauldron. Once outside, he placed a steadying hand on the opposite wall and leaned forward, bowing his head and letting a defeated sigh escape him. He stared blankly at the flagstone floor for several minutes, struggling to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He knew a part of him had been hoping that what Draco had insisted so many times in the past was right: that nothing had changed between them, that Draco would be relieved by Harry's choice to "go live his life the way it was meant to be lived". He thought about how backwards the whole situation had become and smiled humourlessly. Never in a million years would he have thought he'd be arguing with Draco Malfoy about whether or not he loved Harry.

Sighing, Harry straightened up and walked away. As he strode down the empty corridor, the wet echoes of his footsteps ringing in his ears, he tried to tell himself that it was the porridge he'd had for breakfast that was responsible for the leaden weight in his stomach... anything but the heavy, inescapable feeling of regret.

**A/N:** The whole "She loves me in ways…" exchange was stolen from S02E20 of Queer as Folk, aka The Best Show Ever, with much fangirlish love.


	20. An Agreement

**A/N: **At long, long last, chapter 19 is here! Sorry for the wait; I was busy with school and H/D World Cup. Many thanks to Vana for beta'ing.

_A fool to let you slip away  
I chase you just to hear you say  
You're scared and that you think that I'm insane_

- Maroon 5, "Better That We Break"

**Chapter 19:** An Agreement

Draco had never realised how much he could miss Harry Potter until his primary purpose in life became to forget about him. January dissolved into February, and still Draco's resolve to live as normal of a life as possible without Harry remained as unyielding as the bitterly cold weather. Having the same timetable as Harry made this difficult, but despite the fact that he still flushed every time Harry shot him a searching look from across the room, Draco's bruised dignity refused to buckle.

_Pull yourself together, Malfoy_, it warned him. _You've done what you set out to do. Now stand up, dust yourself off, and forget about him._

Despite the appeal of this line of reasoning, however, Draco couldn't stop thinking about how to get Harry to return his feelings. He told himself that he was just trying to cross off number 23, but his unwillingness to target his efforts at someone else suggested otherwise. He had erred by assuming that everything would fall into place once he told Harry how he felt, Draco finally admitted to himself one night. Now he was stuck pining after someone he hated with no escape in sight.

Afraid that he would drive himself insane if he thought about his situation too much, Draco made sure to stay engaged every waking hour. He mostly alternated his time between working on the Felix Felicis and reading _Hogwarts: A History_, though he did also begin to derive an odd sort of pleasure from doing his homework, leading him to spend increasingly long hours holed up in the library.

No matter how occupied his days were, however, Draco could not distract himself from two glaringly obvious facts: one, Harry had taken to spending a large portion of his public time showering his redheaded bint with affection; and two, the deadline for him to find the Mist Lily was approaching at an alarming rate.

At first, Draco had observed the former with a disgusted sneer. If Harry thought he was proving something by emphasising his heterosexuality in public, it wasn't working, at least not in Draco's opinion. But somewhere along the line, contempt had progressed into a sickening feeling in the pit of Draco's stomach that made him want to either vomit into the nearest receptacle or rip out the Weasley girl's pretty red locks with his bare hands every time he saw Harry kissing her on the second floor landing or holding hands with her out on the grounds. Troubled by these urges, Draco buried himself deeper in his work.

If he expected to find solace in potion brewing, however, he was sadly mistaken. He had less than a week now to obtain the Mist Lily before all his efforts went to waste, and he was no closer to finding it than he had been two months ago. The thought of the potion bubbling away in the dungeons gave Draco great anxiety. As the days whittled away, he began stealing nervous glances at Harry during class, wondering if the other boy knew anything about the crucial ingredient. Torn between his determination to prove that he didn't need Harry in his life and his desire to complete the potion, Draco spent his nights mustering up the courage to approach Harry, only to turn and stiffly walk away in the opposite direction upon seeing Harry the next morning.

Then, one cold Friday morning, the chance to recover his failing efforts arrived in the post.

--

When Harry found a fist-sized flower with pale, translucent petals sitting on his pillow, his first impulse was to get rid of it. _That_ would teach Draco to think twice about ruining everything by being a delusional prat. Then Harry reminded himself that no matter how hostile his feelings towards Draco at the moment were, tossing an extraordinarily rare Potions ingredient out the window would do nobody any good, and decided instead to carefully tuck it away in his trunk and leave it there while he went to go thank Dobby.

When Harry returned, sockless and weighed down by an armful of snacks and sweets, he glanced at his closed trunk, briefly considered opening it, then shook his head and strode past it. A small part of him insisted that holding back from contacting Draco right away was selfish and cruel, but for the most part, the rest of him ignored this nagging voice, citing Draco's silent refusal to accept Harry's post-fight offer of assistance as justification for not immediately sending the Mist Lily over. After all, two could play at the game of not giving in first.

For once, however, the rational part of Harry's brain triumphed over the stubborn part, leading to his spending much of the following night writing and rewriting a note to Draco, the final version of which said thus:

_Malfoy,_

_Meet me in the unused Potions classroom at eight on Sunday night if you want your flower._

_- HP_

Upon signing his initials, Harry double checked the short message to make sure it said everything he needed it to say without revealing anything that wasn't strictly business-related. He had teetered on the edge of adding more to earlier drafts of the note – about how Draco was a moron who didn't know the first thing about love, about how he didn't need Draco anyway because he still had Ginny and at least she didn't roll her eyes at his limited Potions knowledge, about how he missed Draco's good qualities and bad qualities and wished he would just forget his damn pride and let Harry help him because for fuck's sake, Harry's life was pointless without him – but had wound up scratching out these elaborations and tossing them in the fire.

Harry had worked too hard to prove to Ron that he and Draco were merely acquaintances to risk being seen personally giving the note to Draco, so he tucked it under his Transfiguration book, leaving a corner of it protruding so that he would remember to send it the next morning.

The door to the room slammed open just as Harry was climbing into bed. Ron stalked inside, looking murderous. He looked up, noticed Harry, and immediately exclaimed, "Why the hell is Hermione in the library with that arse, Corner?"

Harry looked around, but Dean wasn't in the room. Taken aback by the fact that Ron was talking to him, Harry said nothing. He was surprised by this new development; over the course of the past month, Ron had slowly lost most of his hostility towards Harry as he was forced to acknowledge that, yes, Harry had kept his promise to stop being friends with Malfoy, but Harry would hardly consider their friendship mended.

"Those two have been spending too much time together lately… If I didn't know better… But then again, she _has_ been acting a bit dodgy lately…"

Ron's tirade continued on in such a fashion, gradually dropping in volume until it was no more than an incoherent mumble. Bewildered, Harry cleared his throat. Ron looked at him.

"Er… sorry," said Harry. "If it helps, I doubt there's anything between them. I reckon she's only spending more time in the library because N.E.W.T.s are coming up."

Ron scowled. "Whatever," he said, climbing into bed.

"You and Hermione have been through too much together," Harry pressed on, wanting to take advantage of Ron's willingness to talk. "She wouldn't throw that away. Besides, she doesn't even like Corner. She said he's become insufferable since Cho moved away."

"'Become'? He already was," Ron grumbled.

Harry grinned, struck by how normal everything felt at that very moment: the lack of second thoughts about Ginny; Ron complaining about Michael Corner; no Malfoy around to cock things up. It was easy, at times like this when it wasn't obvious how twisted things had become, to forget the war's impact on all their lives.

"Good night, then," said Ron gruffly, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry's grin widened as he stared up at the dark ceiling, trying to ignore the nagging voice reminding him that Ron wouldn't be acting so civil if he knew what Harry had spent most of the night doing. "Yeah. Good night."

--

When Draco walked into the unused Potions classroom at half past eight on Sunday night, he was almost disappointed to find Harry leaning against the far wall, his chin resting on his chest. He had been hoping that Harry would have left when he didn't show up at exactly eight. But apparently Draco's wish to forget about everything that had happened between them wasn't mutual.

"Not falling asleep, are you, Potter?" said Draco, closing the door behind him.

Across the room, Harry's head snapped up. He blinked twice and tousled his hair. "Sorry," he yawned. "Ginny woke me up early today."

"Oh, now you're sleeping together?" Draco snorted, forcing down the fierce jealousy that threatened to rise up and grip him. He cautiously approached Harry, remembering that they had parted on bad terms just in time to stop a safe distance away from him. "I do hope you've spared Weasley the trauma of discovering his sister in your bed and put up a Silencing Charm."

"She's not sleeping in my bed, you arse. She comes to my room every morning to wake me up for breakfast."

"Sure," Draco muttered, relieved nonetheless.

"Not that it's any of your business," Harry continued, looking embarrassed. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, you're late. I thought... I didn't know if you'd come."

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" said Draco, bracing himself for the inevitable jab at his inability to manage on his own.

Harry merely shrugged. "I thought you'd be too stubborn to come."

"And let everything I've carefully planned go to waste? Not likely, Potter, no matter how much you might wish it."

Harry looked genuinely surprised. "I don't wish it."

"Yeah, whatever. Just... give me the lily, and you can be on your merry way." Draco extended a hand. He wasn't even curious as to how Harry had managed to get hold of the Mist Lily. It was clear that he was only here to sever his last tie to Draco, and Draco was fine with that... really.

Slowly, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a carefully wrapped bundle. Draco reached for it, but Harry snatched it back. "Hang on, I want you to listen to me first."

"I wasn't aware that negotiations would be involved in this matter."

"They're not." Contrary to his word, however, Harry kept the flower close to his chest as he continued. "I just wanted to let you know that my offer still stands."

"_That_ I'm aware of." Draco jerked his chin impatiently. "Can I have it now?"

"Why won't you let me help you?" Harry demanded, his fingers tightening around the bundle. Draco eyed it nervously, hoping Harry knew how delicate the petals of the Mist Lily were.

"Because I don't need your help," said Draco, wrestling with the impulse to hex Harry into an unconscious state and take the Mist Lily.

"You do," Harry insisted. "How're you going to find a thestral to ride if you're too scared to go into the Forbidden Forest?"

"I'm not scared!"

"What about learning to swim? Who'll teach you?"

"If I remember correctly, _you_ can't swim without the aid of a handful of gillyweed," Draco sneered.

Harry held Draco's gaze, his green eyes blazing. Draco forced himself to remain unperturbed on the surface, while praying that Harry couldn't tell that his knees were weakening under that look.

"I found the perfect tree for you to climb during break this morning," Harry continued softly. "That was the first thought that crossed my mind when I saw it – that I should tell you about it."

Draco felt a pang pass through him. "Oh," he said. _No, Malfoy, you won't let him sway you. Think of how he humiliated you._ "That – why should I care? It's not like there aren't a thousand other trees on the grounds that I could climb."

"Don't be difficult, Malfoy," said Harry in an anguished tone. "I want you to finish your list." _I miss you._

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You weren't so keen on helping me the last time I saw you." _Prove it._

Harry flushed. "That was different."

Draco folded his arms. "Say I accept your offer. What would the terms be this time?"

Draco could tell that Harry had been waiting for this. "We do it in private," he said. "You can't tell anyone that we're seeing each other."

"Is this an affair or a business agreement?" Draco snorted.

"That's the other thing," said Harry, turning redder still. "You can't bring up what you said about being in love with me."

"Why not?" Draco ventured a few steps closer to Harry, gleefully noting the way the other boy squirmed in discomfort. He lowered his voice so that it captured what he hoped was a seductive tone. "What's wrong with me being in love with you?"

Apparently Harry saw through Draco's act, because he glared at Draco and replied, "It doesn't mean anything."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "That depends. If we're going by your unreasonable standards of meaningfulness, then no, I suppose it doesn't." _It means something to me, though._ "Why should that be a problem?"

"Because you obviously don't understand love if you don't think it has to mean anything," Harry growled, "and you can't be in love if you don't understand it."

Draco looked away, unable to think of a response that wouldn't embarrass himself. "So why should I respect your wishes to keep this thing private when you didn't respect mine?" he asked, deftly returning to the original subject.

"I'm sorry, all right? It's just... I couldn't see at the time why you were so worked up over it."

"Obviously not. And now I'm supposed to accept your apology and express my sympathy, having been in the situation before... is that right?"

"I don't want your sympathy, Malfoy. I just want you to let me help you."

"And it doesn't bother you that I'm only agreeing to your demands because you're manipulating me?"

Smiling thinly, Harry held the Mist Lily out. "Not at all."

--

Harry sent Draco a note the next day, asking him if he could meet in the unused Potions classroom next Friday. Draco didn't send back a reply, but Harry didn't need one to know what the answer was.

"I hate sneaking around," Harry complained that Friday as he shut the door behind him and pulled off his Invisibility Cloak.

Draco, who was by the cauldron and carefully measuring out a phial of pale green liquid, didn't look up from his task. "That's not my problem, Potter," he muttered.

"I know, I just... it's not my style. And I hate lying to Ron and Hermione, especially when Ron's finally talking to me again."

"You brought it upon yourself," Draco snapped, his hand trembling slightly. A tiny droplet of the substance he was measuring spilled out of the phial, slid down its length, and pooled on the part of his thumb supporting the glass. He hissed in pain.

In a flash, Harry was by Draco's side. "Are you okay?" he said, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Take this," Draco managed to say through teeth bared in pain, thrusting the phial at Harry, who automatically took it. "I just spilled a corrosive substance on my skin, Potter," he continued as he deftly healed what had darkened into a clear burn mark with his wand. "Do you _think_ I'm okay?"

"What is this?" Harry asked, eyeing the green liquid apprehensively.

"Grindylow blood. Snape came up with the idea to add it to counteract the side effect of giddiness."

"He told you that?" said Harry, surprised. The image of Snape and Draco sitting in Snape's office discussing potion brewing over tea suddenly popped into his head, and he had to bite back a laugh.

"No, he showed me."

Draco took the phial of Grindylow blood back and resumed filling it.

"When did he –?"

"When else would he be brewing Felix Felicis?" Draco interrupted. He met Harry's gaze over the top of the phial, and the look in his eyes informed Harry that he was venturing too close to the subject of the war and would do well to back off.

So Harry did. More to put some space between him and Draco than anything else, he walked around to the other side of the cauldron before asking, "So when are you going to be finished?"

"Finished what?" Draco muttered as he dumped the Grindylow blood into the cauldron. A thin tendril of smoke rose from the contents, lingering in the air for a few seconds before fading away.

Harry pointed at the cauldron. "This."

"Why? Is there somewhere else you'd rather be?"

Harry sighed. "I already told you, I want to do this."

"There's no reason why you couldn't have changed your mind since Sunday."

"Why are you so hell-bent on getting me to back out of this agreement, Malfoy? You're not invincible. You can't do everything on your own. Why can't you accept some help for once?"

Draco eyes bore into Harry's. "Have you ever known you were about to die, Potter?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I have."

Draco's eyes widened just the slightest in surprise. Harry could see him struggling to suppress his curiosity. "Then you'll understand it's a personal thing," he said. "Correspondingly, the things you do leading up to your death are just as personal."

Harry didn't even need to consider Draco's words. In his mind's eye, he saw himself walking into the Forbidden Forest, the ghosts of the ones who had loved him and died for him leading him through the stifling darkness. He swallowed thickly.

"I understand. But why now? You agreed to accept my help when you showed me your list that time in the Hospital Ward. What made you change your mind?"

"Certain... things."

With a sinking feeling, Harry realised what Draco was trying to say: he no longer trusted Harry. He had laid his feelings, or what he thought were his feelings, bare for Harry, and Harry had thrown them aside. And now Draco was afraid that if he put his hopes in Harry again, they'd only be crushed like the last time.

"I'm going to stick this out, Malfoy," said Harry. "This... this is different from that."

All at once, Draco seemed to recollect himself. "Try not to be too specific with your pronouns, will you?" he sneered as he bent to check the potion. "What was the real reason why you asked me when I'd be finished here if it wasn't because you had something else to attend to?"

"Oh. I was just wondering when we could go outside and give climbing that tree I told you about a shot."

"Potter, the grounds are covered in ice. Unless you're planning to murder me and make it look like an accident, there's no reason for me to go climb a tree today."

He looked up at Harry, and the hardness in his eyes melted away, leaving the grey irises unnervingly exposed. Harry's throat tightened. "Stop that," he said softly.

"Stop what?" Draco snapped, his usual mask of dislike sliding back into place. It seemed he had been unaware of the change in his expression, and for some reason, this made Harry even uneasier. A Draco who manipulated his feelings at will was a Draco Harry could handle, but one whose whole demeanour softened at the sight of Harry was proof of something that Harry didn't want to acknowledge as truth.

"Nothing," said Harry. "So, um, are things all set with the potion now that you've got the Mist Lily?"

"Potter, I can't just dump all the ingredients in the cauldron and expect Felix Felicis to magically appear. The brewing is the hardest part."

"Too bad. I could use some luck right now."

"Why?" said Draco as he stirred the potion with slow, calculated movements.

"It's Friday the thirteenth."

Draco snorted. "Don't tell me you believe in that superstitious bullshit."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Have you been particularly unlucky today?"

"Er..."

"Exactly." Draco stopped stirring. "You shouldn't believe things just because everyone says they're true. I did, and look where I am now."

He held Harry's gaze for a brief moment, then turned to the low table he had set up for himself, picked up a knife, and began chopping ginger roots. Harry shook his head, bewildered by the sudden absence of Draco's biting tone. He had long since given up trying to predict what Draco would say next in a conversation, but the other boy's ability to switch between moods so abruptly never failed to flabbergast Harry.

"So, um, are you planning to take your N.E.W.T.s?" Harry asked after a few seconds of watching Draco cut up ginger roots. He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.

Draco's chopping hand stilled. "What do you think, Potter?" he said, staring down at his immaculately cut ginger roots as if determined to stare them out of existence.

"It's still possible to take them," said Harry quickly, while his better judgment screamed at him to stop talking. "I mean, they're all at the end of May, you still have time to – if you want to, that is, though I suppose you don't have much of a reason to..."

He trailed off, feeling like he was nine years old and fumbling for an excuse after being caught watching Dudley's television again. If Hermione were here, she'd probably throw a fit over his lack of tact, regardless of the fact that Malfoy was the recipient of said tactlessness.

"No," Draco finally said, breaking the prickly silence that had settled between them. He picked up his knife again and resumed chopping at a slower pace than before.

Harry took that as a sign that they were done for the day and turned to leave.

"Wait, Potter, before you go." Harry did an about turn. Draco motioned him over. "Hold this" – he handed Harry another phial – "while I measure out a sample."

Feeling rather useless, Harry stood and held the phial while Draco scooped up a ladleful of the dark, glutinous subject in the cauldron. Then Draco did something unexpected: instead of taking the phial from Harry, he covered Harry's hand with his, steadying the phial while he carefully poured the potion into it.

Harry's breath quickened at the innocent skin-to-skin contact. Draco was squinting in concentration at the substance he was transferring, apparently unaware that he and Harry were close enough now that Harry could clearly see, for the first time, the near-invisible smattering of freckles across his nose. The revelation that Draco's perfect skin was marred by something as common as freckles felt important for reasons Harry couldn't bring himself to decipher, or even care about, because right now... right now, it would be so easy to close those few inches separating them, to forget about everything just once...

"I've got it." Draco's voice brought Harry crashing back down to reality. He leapt back, releasing the phial as if it had bitten him. Draco arched an eyebrow at him, eyes dark with amusement. It was unfair, Harry thought dazedly, that he should be so affected by their closeness when Draco was the one supposedly in love with him.

"I need to go," Harry blurted out.

Draco held the phial up to the light and examined it. He didn't even look at Harry as he replied, "Fine. Go."

Harry told himself that it was their lack of progress with the list and not Draco's nonchalance that made disappointment well up inside of him. "I'll see you soon," he said.

He waited a few more seconds, but Draco continued to ignore him as he focused his attention on squeezing bright pink drops of testing solution into the phial of half-finished potion. Sighing, Harry left the room.

The first thing he saw when he stepped into the dark corridor outside was a head of long red hair bobbing down the hallway. "Ginny!" Harry called up, hurrying to catch up with her.

She stopped and turned at the sound of his voice. Under the flickering light of the torches, the smile she gave him looked strained. "Hi Harry. I'm just heading up to the common room."

Harry returned the smile, hoping none of the guilt he felt showed on his face. His heart raced at the thought of how close he'd been to getting caught with Draco. Ginny could have been right outside the door at the very moment that Draco had closed his hand around Harry's. Harry shuddered and made a mental note to put up warding spells the next time they met – _if_ they met again, because after the reaction he'd just had to being close to Draco, Harry wasn't so sure of himself anymore.

"I'll walk you up," he said, pushing the thoughts aside. He took Ginny's hand and gave it a light squeeze. Nothing. Just the tactile feeling of her hand in his, and an absence of the rush a simple touch of Draco's could induce.

Unable to bear looking into Ginny's trusting face any longer, Harry kissed the top of her head and started walking.

--

Draco smiled as the door shut behind Harry. The solution was so painfully obvious that he was almost angry at himself for not seeing it before. He could have figured it out if he had just considered the rumours about Harry's past relationships. Harry liked to chase, not be chased. All Draco had to do was let him _think_ he was in control of his feelings – and he wouldn't have to go out of his way to do it. Thanks to Harry's guilty conscience, Draco could proceed with his new plan of action without compromising the time he spent working on the items on his list. Harry wouldn't know what hit him until it was too late.

_He can consider it payback for what he did to me._

Draco hummed to himself as he gently shook the phial containing the sample of potion. It turned clear instantly – miraculously, he hadn't managed to screw up yet. For the first time since the night he fixed the Vanishing Cabinet in Hogwarts, Draco felt dizzy with elation.

If things continued to go well, he'd have no regrets when he walked into the execution room in four months' time.


	21. A Discovery

**A/N:** Thanks to Vana for betaing For those of you who are new to this fic, please take note that I've been making a minor grammar edits to the earlier chapters, so there might be differences between chapter 5 (the last chapter I edited) and chapter 6 (the chapter I'm working on right now).

_Time does not change us. It just unfolds us._  
- Max Frisch

**Chapter 20:** A Discovery

The evening of February the 18th found Harry in the library with a very determined Hermione, a very exasperated Ron, and approximately half of the Hogwarts library's collection of texts spread out on and around their study table. It was an unpleasant situation to be in, to say the least.

Earlier that day, Hermione had cornered Harry and Ron in the common room and insisted that they begin preparing for N.E.W.T.s immediately. Though both Harry and Ron begged to differ, they had allowed themselves to be dragged up to the library anyway, fearing they'd receive one of Hermione's now-famous lectures on the importance of N.E.W.T.s if they didn't comply.

Two hours into their study session, however, Harry was beginning to think that maybe he had made a mistake in dismissing the lecture so quickly. Even being scolded for his lack of academic interest was preferable to listening to Hermione prattle on about how Ron's inadequate use of verb modifiers in his last Charms essay proved that wizarding parents would do well to enlist their children in Muggle grammar schools before sending them off to Hogwarts. Harry wasn't quite sure how the subject even related to N.E.W.T.s.

Harry glanced sideways at Ron. The two of them were back on speaking terms, and had made an unspoken pact to not bring up their fight over the holidays or anything else related to Malfoy. Secretly, Harry knew that Ron had not forgiven him for what he had done, but he was also aware that there was nothing he could do to change Ron's mind. He was glad, in any case, that Ron was making an effort to put the recent past behind them, and he was showing his gratitude by mirroring Ron's efforts to patch up their friendship with equal determination.

Still, a shadow only Harry could see darkened the otherwise happy situation. The fact of the matter was that he'd failed to stay faithful to the terms under which Ron had unofficially agreed to put aside his hostility. He had not done as promised and ended his acquaintance with Draco.

Draco. It all came down to him. Unable to resist, Harry glanced over Hermione's shoulder. Draco was sitting in the far corner, his back to Harry. He had come into the library an hour or so ago and headed straight for the table Harry had found him at their first night back. Needless to say, Harry's focus, which had been tremulous at most to begin with, had died a quick and painless death upon Draco's arrival. The fact that Draco didn't know Harry was there only made it easier for Harry to neglect his studying in favour of watching the other boy.

"Wonder what the git's doing here," Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Harry blinked and tore his gaze away from Draco, embarrassed that he'd been caught staring.

"He's, er, probably up to no good."

Ron's approving nod was almost worth the lie.

Hermione paused in the middle of her speech. "Who's up to no good?"

"Malfoy." Ron jerked his chin at Draco's hunched figure. "Five Sickles says he's trying to find a way to escape. He must be getting desperate now that he's only got a few months until..."

Ron made a slashing motion across his throat, and Harry suddenly felt nauseous.

"Ron, that's awful," Hermione berated. "Don't say something like that so casually."

"He deserves it!"

"That's not the point. Someone we've known for seven years is going to receive the Dementor's Kiss. We might not like who he is or what he's become, but we did grow up with him, and to think he'll be gone... just like that. It certainly puts into perspective how much damage the war left behind, doesn't it?" Hermione's voice quavered, and Ron, looking abashed, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Unable to bring himself to join the conversation, Harry grabbed the nearest textbook, opened it, and stared unseeingly down at the words on the page. A flurry of thoughts whirled around in his head, disrupting the stupor he'd slipped into while Hermione had been talking. He had been so caught up in Draco's list that he'd forgotten its purpose, the very reason why it was created. Ron was right, wasn't he? Draco only had a few months – less than four, in fact – before he returned to the Dementors, this time for good.

Harry scrambled for the grim acceptance with which he used to regard the thought of the impending Dementor's Kiss, but instead found panic and anxiety, furled into a tight ball in the pit of his stomach.

_He deserves it_, Harry reminded himself. _He's proud of what he did for Voldemort... He doesn't care that he tortured those Muggles..._

But Harry could no longer accept this justification. Time and careful observation had shown him that the real Draco Malfoy was not the stony-faced boy who had sat up straight under the hateful gazes of a full courtroom and coldly acknowledged his crimes, but someone else, someone far more vulnerable and susceptible to the flaws of human nature. Draco was no Voldemort, no Bellatrix; yet the Wizengamot had sentenced him to a fate reserved only for traitors and monsters without batting an eyelash. Harry knew the agony of the Dementor's Kiss better than anyone else, and as far as he was concerned, _no one_ deserved to suffer it.

_It's your saving-people thing again_, chirped a voice in Harry's head that sounded astonishingly like Hermione's. _You've really got to learn to control it_.

Harry gripped the edges of his book. _Control_. That was right; he had no control over the matter. Like McGonagall had said, he'd already done all he could for Draco. He could only sway the Wizengamot so far before he met opposition. Besides, even if he could convince the Wizengamot to change Draco's sentence again, it wouldn't be fair to Draco, not when he had made it clear that he would rather die than live a miserable, meaningless life.

"You all right, mate?" Ron asked, bringing Harry out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, sorry," Harry said, looking up at Ron and smiling. "Just trying to read these footnotes – I've no idea what compelled these people to print them so small..."

Ron chuckled. "Yeah, another hour of this and I'll have to look into buying a pair of glasses, too." He rubbed his eyes and stretched languidly. "You know, I think I'll ditch the glasses and go give my eyes a rest right now. Be back in a few."

He pecked Hermione on the lips and dashed out of the study area. The moment he disappeared, Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry.

"Why do I get the feeling he's only trying to avoid studying?"

Harry grinned. "He'll be back, don't worry."

Hermione put down her book and placed a hand on Harry's arm. "Speaking of avoiding, you've been sneaking looks at Malfoy ever since he came in."

Harry blushed. Hermione really did know everything. "I'm not avoiding him."

"Then why haven't you gone over and said hello?"

"I haven't spoken to him in ages."

The look Hermione pinned him with was anything but convinced. "Harry, honestly, you've got to stop this. You can't let Ron dictate your relationships with other people. Malfoy – he needs a friend right now, and he had that in you for a few months before Ron came along."

"I'm not – how did you know?"

"Most of the school knew. You two were always together, don't you remember? And you wouldn't have sacrificed your holidays for him if you didn't care about him."

"I don't!"

"Shh, keep your voice down. People are studying." Hermione rested her chin on her hand and regarded Harry thoughtfully. "Even if you don't care, there's something between you two. I'm not saying Malfoy doesn't deserve to die for everything he did, but I do think he deserves some kindness. Right now, you're the only one who's not too scared to show him that."

_Not too scared._ If only Hermione knew just how off the mark she was.

Ashamed, Harry turned his attention to the open book in front of him. The page he had opened to earlier was entitled "Old Magic: Magic of a Most Powerful Sort".

His interest piqued, Harry flipped through the chapter and found the section on life debts. It was headed by a photo of a knight being stabbed through the chest while he stood protectively in front of an evil-looking mage. Harry grimaced and read on.

_Life debts, like blood magic, are among the most ancient and mysterious subsets of wandless magic. Since the dawn of time, witches and wizards have kept records of the seemingly miraculous effects of a life debt (or wizard's debt, a term many have adopted in recent years). Despite the abundance of evidence supporting this baffling phenomenon, however, very few advancements have been made in the field of modern magical theory study to determine how and why life debts are borne, leading most experts to dismiss their existence. What follows is a brief description of those facts widely held to be true, as approved by expert Professor Montague Wicknus:_

Harry impatiently skimmed the next three pages, all of which contained information Remus had already given him. At last, he found what he was looking for.

_Nowhere is the importance of relativity and subjectivity more important than in the process of determining a dual life debt. This rare form of the one-sided life debt comes into existence when both individuals continue to feel a lingering sense of obligation to each other after a life debt is repaid. A popular but flawed analogy often used to explain the situation is that of a simple Potions classroom dilemma, in which each of two students competing to finish an assignment first holds an ingredient the other needs to complete his or her potion. Though both students are technically on equal footing, each believes the ingredient the other holds is more crucial because it is more relevant to his or her goal. However, whereas the simple act of exchanging ingredients would solve this hypothetical problem, a dual life debt can only be broken when both partners truly believe the significances of their actions balance out._

_Many of history's documented cases of dual life debts have involved the binding of partners to some degree. In theory, such a spiritual bond is the result of the two individuals locked in a dual life debt trading possession of their lives, though this particular explanation has been discredited by researchers as a romantic, oversimplified version of the truth. Nevertheless, there is little doubt that a dual life debt does bind its victims together and that this bond can manifest itself in many different forms, including: _

_A strong desire to be close at all times_

_The strengthening of magical abilities when partners are within proximity of one another_

_Fleeting romantic and/or physical attraction_

_Vivid dreams, premonitions, and/or thoughts about one's partner_

_The ability to detect one's partner's emotions during stressful situations_

Though the section continued to the bottom of the page, Harry stopped there, having read enough. "That's it!"

Hermione looked up from the reading she had returned to. "What is it?" She glanced at Harry's book and frowned. "Harry, why are you reading _A History of Magic_? Shouldn't you be studying for a class you're actually taking?"

Harry waved Hermione's question away. N.E.W.T.s didn't matter so much to him; he knew he already had a guaranteed spot in the Auror department. Kingsley, however, had urged him to at least sit the required N.E.W.T.s before officially joining the department, so Harry had grudgingly signed up for them during his advising appointment with Lupin.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Harry said, standing up. "Can you watch my things?"

Hermione had already buried her nose back in her textbook. "Mmm," she said, which Harry took to mean "yes".

"Thanks."

Harry grabbed _A History of Magic_ and hurried behind the nearest bookshelf. Once he was sure he was out of sight, he swung on his Invisibility Cloak and crept towards Draco.

Crumpled pieces of parchment, half-written essays, and messy piles of notes completely covered the tabletop, but Draco, to Harry's surprise, was sleeping. He had his cheek propped up on his hand and was breathing deeply and evenly. In spite of himself, Harry smiled at the sight of Draco completely uninhibited.

"Malfoy," he whispered into Draco's ear.

Draco bolted upright and looked around wildly, giving Harry the impression that at least some part of him had been awake and alert. Not surprising, considering everything he'd been through.

"It's me," Harry said.

Draco's shoulders tensed. "What are you doing, Potter?"

"I need to tell you something."

"Can it wait until we're not in public?"

"No, it's urgent."

Draco looked away, letting his hair obscure his eyes. "I can't leave my things." _People take them and hide them, you know._

Harry's fingers tightened around his Invisibility Cloak.

"Take them with you, then," he said gruffly. "I'll walk you to your dorm."

Sighing, Draco cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure that no one had noticed him talking to thin air, then went about gathering his work. He stuffed all of it in his book bag and stood up.

"This had better be worth it, Potter. And where are you?"

Harry hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then grabbed Draco's wrist. _Symptoms_, he firmly reminded himself, trying to ignore the warmth that spread from the point of contact.

Draco, for his part, looked unfazed by Harry's touch as Harry led him through the study area and out of the library. Harry resisted the childish urge to pout. What had happened to "I'm in love with you"? Was it possible that Draco no longer felt the same way about him?

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded, voicing his uncertainties once they were out in the corridor. There was no one around, so he tugged off his Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it back into his pocket.

Draco shook Harry's hand off. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that? You're the one who hauled me out here without so much as an explanation. And put your cloak back on; people will see."

Feeling somewhat resentful, Harry swung his Invisibility Cloak back over his head as they approached the stairs. "You don't love me anymore?" As absurd as the question was, he didn't feel embarrassed asking.

Harry knew the blank look Draco gave him was not genuine, but couldn't discern any emotions behind the mask. "Weren't you the one who discredited my feelings?"

"And I was right," Harry said quickly. "Listen, while I was studying, I found something..."

They stopped on the third floor landing, and Harry held up _A History of Magic_ so that it protruded out from underneath his cloak. Using the railing to balance the heavy textbook, Harry flipped open to the page he'd hastily bookmarked.

"Life debts?" Draco said, reading the title of the section over Harry's shoulder. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Have you ever heard of a dual life debt?"

"No."

"Right, well, it's really complicated, but apparently it's possible for two people who've saved each other's lives to think they still owe each other a life debt. I reckon that's happening to us."

There was silence, then Draco shrugged, drew back, and resumed walking down the stairs.

Frustrated, Harry jogged up to Draco. "Aren't you bothered by this?"

"Should I be?"

"Yes. You didn't even read the rest of the page. It says that dual life debts have side effects. Your feelings towards the other person start changing, you want to be with them all the time, you're protective of them... and you have weird dreams and premonitions, which would explain why I knew that you'd been attacked. This dual life debt thing might be the reason why you fancy yourself in love with me."

Draco missed a step and had to grab onto the railing to catch his balance. "I still don't see the problem here. We just have to stop thinking the way we do."

"People can't decide their feelings like that," Harry said, exasperated. "You feel the way you do for a reason. Unless you've got the power to go back in time and change that reason, you can't do anything about how you feel right now. It's..."

He trailed off as he caught sight of a large group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws at the bottom of the staircase. A few of the students cast snide looks in Harry and Draco's direction as they passed, and it took Harry a few puzzled seconds to remember they couldn't see him.

"It's a lost cause," Harry finished once they had safely made it down to the dungeons. They walked down the deserted corridor, passing the unused Potions classroom on their way to the Slytherin common room.

"Then what was the point of telling me at all?" Draco asked, scowling straight ahead. He turned the corner abruptly and nearly bumped into Harry, who scooted out of the way.

"I... I just thought you should know."

"Potter," Draco said, halting in front of the blank stretch of wall that marked the entrance to the Slytherin common room, "if it hasn't got any relevance to the eighteen things I've yet to accomplish, then I don't want to hear it. Explanations mean nothing to me."

"Why? Don't you want to know the truth?" Harry demanded, remembering just in time to keep his voice down so that it didn't echo down the corridor. He wished he could just take off his Invisibility Cloak; it was unnerving how Draco was staring straight through him.

"Truth is relative," Draco muttered, passing a hand across the stone wall. Harry wanted to shake him. Wasn't anything absolute?

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to drop the subject. "How're your housemates treating you?"

Draco's hand closed around a sharp, protruding rock on the wall. "Better now that they've got over Nott." The second half of Draco's answer didn't need to be voiced: _But still not so much like a human being as scum on the soles of their trainers. _

"That's, er, good. Listen, I've got to go back before Hermione starts worrying, but do you want to meet –"

"Hang on, someone's coming."

Draco's words registered immediately, and Harry darted behind the nearest suit of armour. A few seconds later, a tall, broad Slytherin boy appeared around the same bend Harry and Draco had taken minutes ago. A strange expression stole across his square-jawed face when he saw Draco.

"Malfoy," he sneered, stopping in the same spot Harry had just vacated. He leaned one shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms across his chest. He was only an inch or two taller than Draco, but his width made him look twice as large. Something about his stance put Harry on his guard.

"What do you want, Hurst?" Draco's tone was clipped and controlled, but Harry could tell by the way he leaned away from Hurst's presence that something about the other boy made him uncomfortable.

"Only wanted to tell you how pretty you look today," Hurst said, leering down at Draco. Harry's grip on the shoulder of the suit of armour slipped, and the metal creaked loudly. Hurst whipped around to stare in Harry's direction.

"What was that?"

"The sound of your sanity trying to escape its confines," Draco said, drawing Hurst's attention back to him. "Sod off, Hurst. I'm not interested."

"If I were you, I'd watch who I turn down," Hurst said, his tone suddenly dangerous. "Wouldn't want to die a traitor _and_ a virgin, now, would you? Though I reckon Daphne's probably right about Potter taking care of the last bit..."

"Potter and I aren't shagging, you moron. Now back the fuck away from me and go find a poof your age to assault."

Hurst let out a short bark of laughter, but didn't press the matter. He said the password to the Slytherin common room and slipped through the entrance that appeared. When the wall slid back into place, Harry stepped forward, only semi-aware that his fists were clenched so tightly his nails were digging into his palms.

"Who the hell is he?"

Draco folded his arms across his chest defiantly. "A sixth year, not that it's any of your business. He's been stalking me for years."

"Have you done anything with him?"

"No, I bloody well haven't, Potter. I'm not that desperate."

The murderous look on Draco's face quieted Harry's seething jealousy. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you were," he muttered. He tugged at his Invisibility Cloak, wishing for the umpteenth time that he could just take it off. "So when do you want to meet?"

"Don't care. _Basilisk._"

The opening appeared once again. Draco stepped inside, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. "You still there, Potter?"

"Yeah."

Draco sighed. "Hurry up and get going already."

But Harry waited until the closing entrance cut off his view of Draco's retreating back before slipping off his Invisibility Cloak and making his way back to the library.

--

Once inside his room, Draco slumped against the door and banged the back of his head against it for good measure. God, he felt like fool. To find out that he hadn't been acting under his own will for – what, four months? Potter was probably going back to have a good laugh with Granger over Draco's idiocy right now. No doubt it was well merited. The mere idea of Draco being in love with Potter was laughable, and yet he'd been the last one to see that. So much for plans to trick Potter into falling in love with him. What was he going to do now? His insides burned with humiliation at the thought of facing Potter again, of seeing the mocking derision in those green eyes. But at the same time, he needed Potter's help.

Draco rubbed his temples so hard that he saw stars. He couldn't remember feeling this helpless since his near-futile efforts to mend the broken Vanishing Cabinet the previous year. He felt tears prick at the insides of his eyelids and blinked them away angrily. No, what was he thinking? He would _not_ cry over Harry Potter, no matter how unbearable the circumstances.

He had no choice: there was nothing he could do but shelve his pride and deal with it.

--

_Malfoy,_

_You know this doesn't have to change anything, right?_

_Having said that, you still haven't told when you want to meet. Is this Saturday all right with you?_

_- HP_

--

_Potter,_

_5 pm._

_- D. Malfoy_

--

"Are you sure there's no way to get rid of this dual life debt thing?" Draco asked as he strode into the unused Potions classroom that Saturday.

He was feeling much better about the unpleasant news Potter had delivered him the previous week. After ten days of tedious deliberation, he had decided that, on the bright side, he could now blame anything stupid he did on the curse (for he regarded any form of magic that bound him to Potter as such). The effects of the dual life debt were certainly a nuisance, but knowing that they were responsible for all of his Potter-related impulses was a considerable relief. At least his sanity was one less thing Draco would have to worry about losing.

"I'll ask Hermione to look into it." Draco nearly leapt out of his skin; he hadn't noticed Potter hovering next to the entrance.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Draco demanded, his cheeks flushing from the scare Potter's unexpected response had given him. "Why are you skulking in the doorway?"

"I'm not skulking," Potter protested, stepping into the light. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his skin was pastier-looking than usual.

"What happened to you?" Draco asked, hoping his concern wasn't apparent. _Curse_, he reminded himself.

"Ginny."

"What did she do now?"

"Nothing. That's the problem. She's... well, never mind, it's not important."

Draco clenched his teeth. He was beginning to get an idea of how frustrated Snape must have felt when he wouldn't disclose the details of what he was doing in his attempts to kill Dumbledore. "You said you'd ask the Mudblood to figure out a solution?"

"_Hermione_ doesn't need to do this if you're going to be an ungrateful prick."

"Don't be absurd. She'll agree to do it for you, not me. If I turn Weasley into a toad and banish him to the Mediterranean, she'll only work harder to find a way to set things right between us." Draco paused. "That isn't too bad of an idea, actually."

Potter snorted. "Don't even consider it."

"Fine. Did you have any reason for scheduling this meeting other than wanting to dangle a vague promise to fix this life debt thing in my face?"

"I'm not dangling anything in your face. I told you, I'll ask her."

"Don't argue with me, Potter. What do you _want_?"

Their gazes locked. Potter didn't say anything. It felt to Draco like he was trying to answer with his eyes, and Draco wondered when it had become normal for them to communicate – or attempt to communicate – wordlessly.

"Eighteen," Potter finally said.

Draco mentally ran through his list in his head, trying to remember what number eighteen was. "Pierce my ears?"

"Bingo."

Comprehension slowly settled in. "You mean... no. _No._ You're not doing it, Potter!"

Potter frowned. "Why not?"

"You actually think I trust you to only put holes through my ears and stay away from the rest of my body?" Draco said, backing away from Potter. He was clearly insane.

"You trusted me in a supposedly haunted building, but you don't trust me now?" Potter asked, folding his arms. His calmness only increased Draco's disapproval of his idea.

"That was different! It wasn't my body we were dealing with! You... my ears... you could injure me! Your wand could slip – you don't even know the spell –"

"I know. That's why I'm not going to use magic."

"Not – _not going to use magic_? Are you mad, Potter? I'm not letting you anywhere near my ears. Dying from wounds inflicted by your barbaric Muggle devices is last on my list of ways to go!"

"Can you _shut up_ about dying?" Potter growled. "You'll be fine, Malfoy. Muggles do it all the time, and they don't suffer any lasting damage."

"That's like saying it's socially acceptable for me to tear your head off with my bare hands because giants do it," Draco said shrilly. "Other – _species_ – have ways of doing things that aren't appropriate for our kind."

"Muggles are just as human as we are." Draco could tell that Potter was starting to lose patience. "Would you rather pierce your own ears? Because if that's what you want, fine, go ahead, do it alone in front of a mirror."

Potter reached for the door handle. "No, I want you to," Draco blurted out.

Potter rolled his eyes, but he looked mollified. "You only had to say so."

Draco glowered as he followed Potter to the middle of the empty classroom. They sat down on the stone floor beside the bubbling cauldron. Draco wiped his palms on his robes. His trepidation was growing at an alarming rate.

Potter seemed to sense this, because he stopped rummaging around in his pockets. "Look, if you really don't want to –"

"I don't know the spell either, and I can't exactly go into Hogsmeade and get it done. Just bloody do it before I change my mind, Potter."

The crease in Potter's forehead smoothed out. He dug deeper into the inside pocket of his robes and extracted a cloth-wrapped object the size of a toothpick.

"This is a needle," he explained, unfolding the cloth and holding up a thin, silver object. Its sharp tip glinted in the air.

Draco gulped. "That – that's going to go through my ear?"

"Yeah. Usually Muggles use a piercing gun, but I couldn't get hold of one..."

"The needle is fine," Draco said quickly. His father had told him about guns before. They were instruments Muggles used to shoot each other. _"Our methods of killing are much more humane,"_ he had said. Draco was inclined to agree.

"Good. Don't worry, it should be quick and easy."

Draco could not think of any process that sounded less quick and easy, but he bit his tongue. He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of backing out. Besides, now that they were several steps into the process, Draco wanted to see it through to the end.

Draco tried to breathe evenly as he watched Potter levitate the needle to the flames under the cauldron. Potter gave the needle a few seconds to heat, then withdrew it with a light flick of his wand and let it cool in the air. Meanwhile, he searched his pockets again with his free hand. When he took out a small bottle filled with a clear liquid, Draco's patience cracked.

"What are you doing?"

"Sterilising the needle." Potter plucked the needle from mid-air and balanced it on his knee. Then he unscrewed the cap of the bottle and dowsed the cloth he'd kept the needle wrapped in with the contents of the bottle. The strong smell of alcohol filled Draco's nostrils. "If I don't, you might get an infection."

"Infection?" Draco repeated, horrified. "Potter, I swear, if you –"

"Relax, Malfoy. I asked Hermione to make sure. Her parents are dentists; they're into that hygiene stuff. They were the ones who sent over all this stuff, actually."

Draco had no idea what a dentist was, but if it was related to Granger, it couldn't be very trustworthy. "Why didn't you just ask her to teach you the spell?"

"Because it's too risky. Do you want to end up like George Weasley?"

Draco shuddered. He had heard the rumours about the injury the Weasley twin had sustained during the war, but he hadn't actually seen it. He could only imagine how hideous it must look, though.

"Do you know how to conjure ice?" Potter asked once he'd finished rubbing the needle with the alcohol-soaked cloth.

"Why?"

"Because – never mind." Potter had apparently come up with an answer on his own, because he picked up his wand again and Transfigured the alcohol in the bottle into water with a muttered, "_Aguamenti!_" He then froze it with a simple Freezing Charm.

"Your magical aptitude astounds me, Potter."

"Shut it, Malfoy."

"You shouldn't have even had to think about that one."

Potter waved the needle threateningly. "This is going through your tongue if you don't keep quiet."

Draco eyed the needle warily. Potter took the opportunity Draco's silence offered to press the ice-filled bottle against Draco's earlobe. Draco winced at the sudden cold. When his earlobe felt suitably numb, he tried to shrug Potter's hand away, but Potter resisted.

"I want to make sure. Can't have you crying like a baby when it's done."

"I won't cry," Draco snapped, but he was grateful all the same.

After a few seconds, Potter removed the bottle, tossed it aside, and scooted forwards so that he was sitting as close to Draco as possible. He removed another object from his pocket: a slice of potato.

"What the hell, Potter?" Draco breathed, every muscle tensed. Potter was too close.

"Just a precaution." Potter held the potato slice up to the back of Draco's earlobe, steadying it with his thumb and index finger. Using his other hand, he centred the point of the needle.

"It's going to hurt a little," Potter murmured. His warm breath washed over the bare skin of Draco's neck as he spoke, and Draco shivered. He shifted, trying to hide his body's embarrassingly obvious reaction to Potter's proximity with his robes.

Potter pressed the tip of needle against Draco's flesh, and Draco braced himself, waiting for the pain. Desperate for a physical anchor, he reached out and groped around for something he could hold onto. Potter's knee was the first solid object he found. He had no time to search for a better option, because at that moment, Potter thrust the needle forward in one swift motion, and Draco yelped at the sharp pain that pierced his earlobe.

"Fuck!" he swore, clutching Potter's knee so tightly that his nails dug into the material of Potter's jeans. The effects of the preliminary icing were lost as the flesh around the puncture mark throbbed and burned.

"'Hurt a little'?" Draco panted, blinking back tears of pain. "You're a bloody masochist if you think that only hurt a little, Potter."

Potter pulled out the needle and dropped the blood-stained potato slice. He leaned forward and blew gently on Draco's ear, sending shivers that had nothing to do with the pain down Draco's spine.

"Are you all right?" Potter asked, his brow furrowed in concern. "Here – let me try to lessen the pain a little –"

Before Draco could protest, Potter cast a Pain Relieving Charm. Draco screwed his eyes shut and hastily bid farewell to his left ear, but to his surprise, Potter's bit of magic actually worked. The pain faded to a tolerable level, and his blood pressure returned to normal.

"Is that better?"

Draco exhaled shakily. "I think I'm fine with one piercing."

Potter laughed. "I agree with you for once."

"Try to make a habit out of it," Draco suggested. They looked at each other, and Potter burst out laughing again. Draco struggled to control the smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but it was useless; the harder he tried to suppress it, the more vigorously it fought back. Finally Draco allowed himself to laugh, though he stopped abruptly when Potter turned astonished eyes towards him.

Draco cleared his throat. He suddenly became aware that he was still gripping Potter's knee and quickly released it. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before reaching up to touch his sensitive, newly pierced lobe.

"Like I said, barbaric," he grumbled.

Potter merely grinned, stood, and offered Draco a hand getting to his feet.

--

**A/N:** The title, "Old Magic: Magic of a Most Powerful Sort", was stolen from an essay written for the HP Lexicon.


	22. A Moment

"Outside, the world I had watched for so long was living and breathing on the same earth I now was. But I knew I would not go out. I had taken this time to fall in love instead—in love with the sort of helplessness I had not felt in death—the helplessness of being alive, the dark bright pity of being human—feeling as you went, groping in corners and opening your arms to light—all of it part of navigating the unknown."  
- _The Lovely Bones_ by Alice Sebold

**Chapter 21:** A Moment

March arrived in the blink of an eye, and with it came unending sunshine. In spite of the clear skies, however, the temperatures continued to hover near the freezing point.

Harry grew increasingly frustrated with the deceptive weather. He wanted to go out and play Quidditch without having to wear so many layers he could barely lift off the ground. He was tired of being cooped up inside all the time, especially since he had no desire whatsoever to study.

It didn't help that Hermione's stress level was climbing at such an alarming rate that she had stopped communicating with everyone, including Ron. This, in turn, put Ron in a bad mood, which he chose to handle by venting his frustrations in loud, obnoxious tones every time someone came within hearing distance. As for Ginny, the only time Harry saw her these days was when she came to wake him up in the morning. Even then, she always acted distant and hardly ever stayed longer than a few minutes. In truth, Harry didn't see the point in her visits anymore, but he refrained from telling her this; their relationship was still too fragile to be treated with anything but delicacy.

Worst of all – and it no longer surprised Harry that this was the "worst of all" – he couldn't see Draco. They had agreed to not contact each other unless their reasons for doing so were related to the list. It wouldn't be a good idea, Draco had pointed out, to foster the growth of whatever the duel life debt had done to them. Though Harry could hardly argue this, he couldn't help secretly wishing at times that he'd never showed Draco the book.

Still, the wait for an excuse to meet with Draco would not have been as torturous as it was if it weren't for the earring. Draco had somehow obtained a gold stud, which he had put in his newly pierced ear. It glinted like a tiny Snitch every time Harry saw him in the hallways, bringing back to mind the intimacy of the moment when he had pierced Draco's ear: the feel of Draco's skin beneath his fingertips, the flush that had rose up Draco's neck when Harry's fingers had accidentally grazed the underside of his jaw. Eventually Harry gave up trying to focus during his classes and fell to staring shamelessly at the tantalising gleam of gold from across the room. Luckily, everyone was too wound up over N.E.W.T.s to notice, though Harry did catch Hermione shooting him knowing sidelong glances every once in a while.

When the first wave of warm weather struck in late March, the first thing Harry did was contact Draco.

_Meet me behind Hagrid's cabin tomorrow at noon,_ he wrote, and then went to send it immediately.

Harry arrived at Hagrid's cabin ten minutes early the next morning, but Draco was already there, arms and ankles crossed as he leaned against the wall of the cabin, out of sight from anyone who might be looking from the castle. Harry's eyes were instantly drawn to the gold stud, which glinted in the sunlight.

"Nice... earring," he choked out, shielding his eyes as he approached Draco.

"You like it?" Draco asked carelessly. He uncrossed his arms and straightened up. "What are we doing today?"

Harry ran his hand along the rough outer wall of Hagrid's cabin, his throat tightening as he remembered all the times he had come here, sometimes with Ron and Hermione, sometimes alone. The safe haven he had known then was a different place now. It was dark and silent, and it exuded a depressing air of negligence. The curtains had been pulled over the windows, and the hinges on the front door were starting to rust. Harry wondered what had happened to Fang. Had he been taken in by a kind family? Did he know he would never see his owner again?

"Potter, stop daydreaming."

Harry's hand dropped back to his side. "Sorry. I thought we could do number three – ride a Thestral."

Draco's face paled a little. "Right now?"

"Don't tell me you're scared."

"Why would I be scared?" Draco snapped. He squared his shoulders and marched into the Forbidden Forest. "Come on, I don't have all day, Potter."

Harry hurried to catch up with him. "Hold on, we don't have to go that far in. It might be a better idea if we don't." He reached into his bag, pulled out a Quaffle-sized slab of meat he had got from Dobby earlier, and peeled off the bloodstained paper around it. "This should do the trick of luring them out."

He dropped the meat onto the ground, stepped back, and motioned for Draco to do the same.

"Where'd you get the earring?" Harry asked while they waited.

"It was my mother's," Draco said, his sun-dappled cheeks turning slightly pink. "I snuck home and stole some of her jewellery before the Hit Wizards caught me. Most of it was valuable, and I knew she wouldn't want it falling into the Ministry's paws."

"I see." Harry was touched by Draco's dedication to his mother. He had never thought of the Malfoys as a close-knit family, but now he realised that it must have taken a considerable amount of love and courage for them to stick together through the war.

"Have you talked to Granger about the curse yet?"

"It's not – never mind. No, I haven't talked to her about it yet. I don't want to bother her. She's panicking over N.E.W.T.s right now."

"So you're saying she won't be able to fix this until after N.E.W.T.s are over?" Draco demanded.

Harry sighed. Did Draco really hate the civility between them that much? It didn't look like he still believed himself to be in love, so it couldn't be that bad. "I'll try to figure something out. Would it kill you to be patient? It's not like this thing is harming you."

"On the contrary, Potter, it's causing me a considerable amount of unnecessary misery. I don't want to die pining after you. _You_ wouldn't understand, seeing as you were lucky enough to escape the unfortunate effects of this life debt thing."

"I don't know about that," Harry mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. Look, here they come."

Draco looked paralysed as three full-grown Thestrals emerged from the shadows, their large, unseeing eyes trained on the hunk of meat lying on the ground. Harry unconsciously shifted closer to him.

"You never answered my question," he said as he watched two of the Thestrals sniff suspiciously at the meat. "When did you first start seeing them? You couldn't when Hagrid showed us in fifth year."

"The summer between fifth and sixth year," Draco said without taking his eyes off the Thestral that had torn off a chunk of meat. "Before the Dark Lord let me join him, he... tested me. To see what I was capable of. One of the first things he did was kill a Muggle in front of me."

Harry sucked in a breath. So that explained why Draco had changed so much between fifth and sixth year. Harry knew he had been inducted into Voldemort's circle that summer, but he had never even considered what Draco might've had to do for that acceptance.

"Malfoy..."

"It's fine," Draco said shortly. He took a step towards one of the Thestrals and, wincing, laid a hand on its flank. It turned its head towards him, a piece of meat dangling between its teeth. "Let's go."

--

After much difficulty, Draco managed to climb onto the Thestral and settle himself between its wings. He stared down at the silky black mane and tentatively twined his fingers in it. It continued to chew on the chunk of meat it had torn off, seemingly unaware that there was a human sitting on top of it.

"Ready?" Potter asked. He was sitting on top of his Thestral, looking for all the world like he rode undead beasts every day. Draco wondered when and how he had got so accustomed to this. "Malfoy?" Potter prompted when Draco didn't answer.

Gritting his teeth, Draco dug his heels into his Thestral's fleshless sides. It let out a high-pitched whinny and bolted forwards. Draco bit back a shriek and clung on tight with his hands and knees as they raced past bushes and tree trunks. The forest was a blur around him, and before he knew it, he was lifting off the ground and bursting through the treetops into the blinding open air above.

"Don't be so reckless!" he heard Potter shout behind him, but he couldn't turn around or even free a hand to give Potter the finger. The force of the wind against him was both frightening and exhilarating at once. He could scarcely draw air into his lungs, but his body was breathing, his heart was pounding, and he felt so fucking _alive_. It was even better than flying on a broom. He didn't have to constantly worry about when to turn or whether to dive – it was almost as if the Thestral knew where he wanted to go.

They soared over the Forbidden Forest and circled the castle, the Thestral's skeletal wings beating a persistent rhythm against Draco's legs. As they passed the Gryffindor tower, Draco glanced over at Potter, who had pulled level with him. Potter grinned at him, and Draco grinned back before he could stop himself.

Ahead of them the lake glittered under the sun like a vast spiderweb. Draco half-expected to see diamonds gleaming below the surface of the water as they flew over it, but the only thing he saw was his own reflection, distorted by ripples. Before Draco had time to marvel over the unfamiliar look of elation on his face, they were past the lake and on their way back

By the time they hit the ground of the Forbidden Forest again, Draco was shivering and panting from a mixture of cold and exhilaration. "That was..."

"Incredible," Potter finished as he came up from behind Draco. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were glowing; in short, he looked just as animate as Draco felt. He dismounted his Thestral and held out an arm to Draco. "Here, grab my hand."

"I can get off fine," Draco said, but as he looked down at the ground and tried to calculate how far it was, he wasn't so sure. Grabbing a handful of his Thestral's mane, he swung one leg over to join the other and jumped off. He stumbled once he hit the ground, and Potter immediately grabbed his forearms, steadying him.

"You all right?"

"Calm down, Potter, I'm not fragile." Though Draco had regained his balance, Potter didn't release him. He was staring at Draco, lower lip caught between his teeth. "What's wrong with you?" Draco demanded, trying to sound annoyed, but there was a tremble in his voice. He knew what was coming, and he was helpless to stop it.

One of Potter's hands slid up his arm and curled around the back of his neck. The other gripped Draco's wrist tightly as Potter took a step closer and brushed their lips together. It was tentative and uncertain, a question of sorts, and Draco didn't have to think twice about his answer. He grabbed the front of Potter's robes and pulled him into a real kiss. He ran his tongue along Potter's lower lip, waiting for the moment when Potter would come back to his senses and push him away, but Potter didn't resist; he merely released a soft sigh and buried his fingers in Draco's wind tousled hair. Warmth spread through Draco, chasing away the chill that lingered from the ride.

All too soon, Draco felt the pressure of Potter's hands on his chest, gentle but firm. He drew back, and as he did, dismay settled in the pit of his stomach, heavy and cold. He had let the bloody curse take over again.

Potter, however, didn't appear to be angry. The look in his eyes was almost awe, but not quite, because it was muddled by confusion. "I'm sorry. Maybe I'm feeling the effects of the life debt, too."

"M-maybe." Draco's heart pounded furiously against his rib cage. Surely it wasn't normal to be so affected by a simple kiss. "Potter, this doesn't –"

"Mean anything, I know." Potter's voice dropped as he ran his hands down Draco's chest, his touch burning Draco's skin through the layers of Draco's school robes. "It's just the magic. The curse."

"Exactly," Draco said, capturing Potter's gaze with his own. _Please._

Potter tilted his head, lips parting slightly; Draco closed the remaining distance between them. They kissed, slowly and deeply, an innocent exploration of unfamiliar realms of attraction. It was beautiful, and yet Draco's heart _hurt_ as Potter's arms wound around his waist, drawing him closer, it seemed, than physically possible. With every desperate clutch, every awkward nose bump, the aching sensation expanded, until Draco's chest and throat were so tight that he could scarcely breathe – but he didn't care anymore, because he would gladly die like this: feeling, needing, wanting without restraints.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco knew he had gone one step too far in testing the waters. A part of him recognised that he had crossed the line between daring and danger once again, but that there was still time to correct his blunder should he choose to. But he didn't. Wrapped up in the moment, in the vulnerability of being human, in Harry, Draco turned a blind eye to the warning signs and let himself fall.


	23. A Confession

**A/N:** This chapter is unbetaed. Also, SKOM celebrated its two-year anniversary four days ago! Thanks to everyone who has stuck around for that long!

_Let this moment unravel  
And we'll be alright  
The world might be gone tomorrow  
But we're here tonight  
Oh, it's not too late  
Just to feel that way_

Taylor Hicks, "Just to Feel That Way"

**Chapter 22:** A Confession

"Harry, behind you!"

Harry whipped around in time to see the Golden Snitch flit away. Gritting his teeth, he tore after it, hand outstretched, but it was hopeless; the sun's glare was in his eyes and he couldn't see the glint of gold anywhere.

"Fuck!" He slowed down and sat back on his broom. Ginny pulled up next to him.

"What were you thinking?" she asked, placing a gloved hand on his thigh. "That was an easy catch."

"I was thinking about you."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "If Angelina were here, she'd kill you. Never think about the enemy while you're playing."

"Even if the enemy's your girlfriend?"

Though Harry had meant the words to be teasing, they came out sounding flat. Ginny's hand slid off his leg.

"I mean it," she said. "What's going through your mind? You seem more distracted than usual. I thought you'd been dying for a good game for months."

Guilt gnawed at Harry's insides. He couldn't tell Ginny the truth. No matter how often he told himself the kiss he'd shared with Draco was a one-time thing, that didn't change the fact that he wanted to do it again. And again. And again.

He'd thought that one kiss would satiate his burning curiosity, but instead it had opened doors to stronger, more dangerous urges. He i_wanted_/i Draco. He wanted to see Draco, to talk to him, to be with him. It didn't matter why; all Harry knew was that he had never felt anything close to this for Ginny.

Still, they hadn't seen each other for over a week now. Though Draco had not seemed angry when they parted after the Thestral ride, he had made no attempt to contact Harry afterwards. Harry didn't mind waiting, but at the same time, he was also keenly aware that time was running out for Draco. Magic-induced or not, if this i_thing_/i between them meant anything at all, Harry would leave Ginny in a heartbeat – rash, yes, and undoubtedly stupid, but he could no longer bear the heavy weight of denial on his shoulders. He would take the chance, and if it didn't pay off, then so be it. At the very least, he could ride out the high of three more months with Draco, and deal with the consequences later.

Before Harry could answer Ginny's question, someone called his name. He and Ginny both glanced towards the ground. Ron and Hermione were standing at the foot of the bleachers, waving up at them.

"Guess what Lupin just told us?" Ron yelled.

"What?" Ginny called back.

Ron frantically motioned them down. Harry and Ginny complied, turning their brooms and diving towards the ground together. They pulled up next to Ron and Hermione and dismounted with ease.

"What?" Ginny repeated, releasing her long, red hair from the messy bun in which she'd trapped it.

"Greyback," Ron crowed, while Hermione beamed. "They caught Greyback!"

"He was on the brink of death when they found him, so they decided not to administer the Kiss and let him live out his last few days," Hermione added. "I think Kingsley's anti-Dementor policies are finally starting to take effect."

"That's great!" Harry said, grinning. He couldn't be happier for Remus. Finally, his lifelong nightmare was on its way to closure.

"Yeah!" Ron said enthusiastically. "Just think of all the people he attacked. It's about time those families got what they've been wanting for years. Can't really fault him for finishing off Malfoy's dad, though – it's probably the only good thing he did his entire life."

_20. Avenge Father's death._

Harry's grin slid off his face, and he sucked in a sharp breath. He had to tell Draco.

"I'm going to head up to the castle right now. I'll catch up with you lot later."

"Wait, we're going –"

But Harry was already tearing across the Quidditch Pitch towards the castle, gulping in lungfuls of the warm, evening air, methods of breaking the news to Draco racing through his head. He felt a rush of irrational anger as he sprinted through the main doors and down the stairs to the dungeons. It wasn't fair. Revenge was one of the last things Draco had, and yet the Ministry had gone and taken it away from him too. Of course, locked up in the castle, Draco couldn't have got the revenge he wanted anyway, but it was the thought from which he drew strength. Harry knew that because he'd felt the same way about Bellatrix after Sirius's death.

"The Aurors got Greyback," Harry gasped before the door to the unused Potions classroom had even swung shut behind him. Draco hovered over the cauldron, stirring its contents with his wand. When he glanced up at Harry, there was no question about how he'd been discovered in his eyes.

"Back so soon from your date?"

Harry ground his teeth together. Now was not the time to discuss the situation with Ginny. "Did you hear me, Malfoy? Greyback's only got a few more days before he's dead and gone."

"What does that have to –" Draco's eyes widened as realisation struck. He withdrew his wand, shook it off. "If this is your idea of an April Fool's joke, Potter, you're a day late."

"You think I'd joke about this?"

There was a moment of tense, uncomfortable silence, and then the inevitable explosion came.

"_Fuck!_" Draco yelled, slamming his fist onto the table of ingredients next to him. It wobbled precariously, and a few dried leaves fluttered to the stone floor. Draco's expression deepened into a murderous scowl. He aimed a kick at the table leg, causing a vial to tumble off and shatter.

Harry was at his side in a heartbeat. "Hey, relax," he said, grabbing Draco's arms and pinning them to his sides. He felt the muscles tremble in his grip. "You wouldn't have been able to find him anyway."

"But the Ministry, of all fucking people!" Draco turned seething eyes on Harry. "You! You're their little poster boy. You knew about this, didn't you, Potter? You i_knew_/i they were after him, and you still let me believe –"

"I've got nothing to do with the Ministry," Harry snarled, his temper rising. "What's it matter who found Greyback? He'll get the punishment he deserves, won't he? It's about bloody time, too. He'd been out there for too long – it wasn't like he was going to sit around doing nothing, waiting for you to come find him. Besides, he's half-dead already!"

Draco's lower lip trembled just the slightest. "Father will hate me," he said, his voice breaking. "He'll never forgive me for failing to do this. Mother... she wanted me to, it was her last wish before they took her to Azkaban... 'Let your father rest in peace,' she said, and she was crying – i_crying_/i! My mother never cries, Potter." Draco gave a low moan of despair and slumped against the table he'd tried to destroy moments ago. "I've been sitting here stirring cauldrons and reading history books instead of doing what was important."

"That's not true!" Harry said fiercely. "You did what you could."

Without thinking, he cupped the side of Draco's face. He thought he felt Draco lean into the touch before turning his head away.

"There's no use continuing with the list. What's the point if I'll never be able to finish it?"

Harry was taken aback. "The point? I thought the point was to do all the things you've always wanted to do."

"It is, but –"

"So what difference does this make? One less item doesn't make the rest of the list any less important to you. Things don't need to be perfect to work."

These words did not have the intended effect of calming Draco, but instead seemed to anger him further. He kicked away a few shards of glass and straightened up. "You don't understand, Potter, and I don't need to explain anything to you. Just... go back to your friends. I want to be alone."

Harry gritted his teeth. "How about we do one of the other things? The weather's nice; we could always –"

"Just go away, Potter!"

"Fine!" Harry ground out. He'd been wrong to feel sorry for Malfoy – he was the same selfish child he'd always been. "Let me know when you're done wallowing in self-pity."

Just before Harry shut the door, he thought he heard a familiar sob of frustration inside the classroom. It took all his self-control not to turn back.

---

The next day, Draco didn't show up to any of their classes. Harry smiled to himself when he walked into Defence of the Dark Arts, the last class of the day, to find Draco's regular seat empty.

So he hadn't given up after all.

Later, while taking a loop around the Quidditch Pitch with Ron, Harry spotted a flash of blond hair heading from the castle to the greenhouses. He convinced Ron to end there for the day, and hurried to the greenhouses once he'd managed to shake Ron off by telling him he had to head to the library to check out a book for his Transfiguration project.

It took a while to locate Draco. Harry finally found him sitting behind Greenhouse Four, his back against the dirt-smeared glass wall. _Hogwarts: A History_ lay open on his lap.

"Too good for Herbology, are you?"

A slight twitch of the shoulders was the only indication of surprise Draco gave. "I never said I didn't like the greenhouses," he said, his eyes still glued to the book.

Harry lowered himself to the grass beside Draco, wincing when the dampness immediately began seeping through his robes. "So? How was your day off?"

Silence was Draco's response, but Harry didn't press him. He leaned back against the wall of the greenhouse and gazed up at the sky. It was late evening, and the sun had begun to set. It framed the silhouette of the castle in glowing red, reminding Harry briefly of the night Dumbledore had died, when the two of them had returned to find the grounds lit by the vivid green of the Dark Mark.

But the sky had been black that night. Right now, splashes of colour painted the backdrop behind the castle in warm hues. As the sunlight faded, tendrils of hazy orange-pink and pale gold unfurled and spread out across the sky, shifting, mingling, turning the sky into a rosy blur. Harry watched, enraptured by the simple beauty of the scene, until the sun had sunk below the horizon and its red tint had bled away, leaving the sky dusky lavender.

"There," he said then. He'd grown so accustomed to the comfortable silence that he didn't immediately recognise his voice. "There's your seventeen."

He glanced at Draco. The other boy had his face tilted upwards. The thin light that lingered made his skin look translucent, bringing every thin, spidery vein in his half-lowered eyelids into stark contrast and casting smudged, bruise-like shadows across his features. Without thinking, Harry leaned over and brushed a kiss over his lips.

Draco's eyes flew open. He glared at Harry. "That doesn't count."

"Why not?" Harry asked, sitting back. "You're giving up on your list?"

"Don't be an idiot. I didn't risk detention to read a history book for nothing."

A grin broke across Harry's face. He hadn't realised how much he'd wanted this excuse to keep seeing Draco until he'd nearly lost it. "Then why doesn't it count?"

"Because I've still got to watch the sunrise tomorrow morning."

"Let's do it," Harry said immediately. He stood and offered Draco a hand. "We can sleep out here tonight. Knock off eight while we're at it."

Harry could see Draco fighting the impulse to tell him to go away. "Don't you have...?"

"Forget Ginny," Harry said shortly. "Come on. Let's go to the pitch."

---

The colour drained out of the sky as they made their way across the silent, deserted grounds. The chilly night air was infused with a calming sense of peace and completeness, and Draco inhaled deeply, wanting to absorb that peace into his body, make it last forever.

They climbed up to the top of the benches. Draco sat down on the worn wood, shivering.

"This is brilliant," he muttered, looking out at the deserted Quidditch pitch, dark under the black sky. "Just fantastic. You really want to sleep up here, Potter? Sitting up? In the cold?"

Potter shrugged off his cloak. He murmured something, and it grew, the fabric gathering in a heap on the ground as it lengthened.

"Good thing about running around in the wilderness in the winter during a war is that you learn to make do with what you've got," Potter said with a grin. He tossed one end of the cloak-turned-blanket over Draco's lap. "Can you cast a Warming Charm?"

"Obviously," Draco said, casting said charm. He hesitated, then wrapped the blanket around him. Warmth enveloped him, and he melted into it with a small sigh. "I can't sleep upright."

Draco felt Potter shift closer. "Then lean on me," he said so quietly that Draco almost didn't hear him above the soft hiss of the wind. Potter's shoulder nudged against Draco's, and Draco turned to find Potter's face an inch away from his. He gave Draco a half-smile. "I don't mind. I won't tell anyone."

"Someone will see us in the morning..."

"We'll sleep under my Invisibility Cloak, then. Or," Potter said, colouring slightly, "I can stay awake and keep watch."

"Don't be a moron, Potter. Just because you saved the world doesn't mean you don't need sleep. Just... use your cloak. But not right now." Draco swayed a little, drawn to the solid warmth of Potter's body. His cheek brushed against the scratchy wool of Potter's scarf. "Idiot," he whispered. "I don't need you to do this with me."

"I know," Potter said with a smile.

---

"I'm sorry," Harry said later that night after the stars had come out. "About your father. I mean, I'm not sorry... for the rest of us. But for you, I am. It must've been awful... by Greyback, of all people."

"I always hated him," Draco muttered. "He'd say disgusting things to my mother when he visited the Manor, and then he... he'd threaten me. He'd do... things. I told Father I wanted him banned from the grounds, but Father refused, said we'd have to suffer his presence for the Dark Lord's sake." He laughed bitterly. "I suppose he suffered Greyback's presence more than both of us combined."

Harry was surprised to hear the usual reverence missing from Draco's tone. "Your dad wouldn't kick Greyback out, even to protect you and your mum?"

"It was the right thing to do," Draco said, his voice hollow. "Threats, bullying, harassment... they were inconsequential compared to what the Dark Lord could have done. But... sometimes I wish Father had stood up for us. For the principle of it. I mean, all three of us would have died eventually – Father's gone already, and Mother and I don't have long. At least we could have gone together at the hands of the Dark Lord."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when Draco's hand covered his on the bench. Their fingers locked in one smooth, synchronised movement. Harry's heart beat rapidly as he looked to his side, but Draco was gazing out across the field into the inky blackness on the other side, his cheeks flushed pink.

"I don't want to die alone," Draco whispered.

Just like that, Harry's heart broke.

Turning Draco's face towards him, Harry bowed his head and touched their foreheads together.

"You won't have to," he said. "You hear me? You're not going to die alone. You're not going to die at all."

Draco made a soft, exasperated sound. "How many times do I need to tell you that you can't control the world before the message finally gets through that thick skull of yours?"

"At least one more," Harry said. He stroked the nape of Draco's neck, a thousand tiny wings fluttering in his stomach. "Can I...?"

Draco gave the smallest of nods. Harry tilted his head, finding Draco's lips with his. They kissed with open mouths, sensation and emotion intermingling in excruciating intimacy. Harry wanted to cry when Draco's hand tightened around his, and even though he squeezed back, it didn't relieve any of the pressure in his chest.

When Draco broke the kiss, he rested his cheek on Harry's chest rather than drawing back. After a while, his breathing slowed down and deepened. Carefully, Harry eased his Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and draped it over them, so that it covered all but their feet. Then he sighed and closed his eyes.

That night, Draco wasn't the only one who fell asleep half-hoping he wouldn't wake up.


End file.
